


Confessions

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 35,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's life as a priest in the church is all set... until a seminary student named Will joins the parish</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Father Thomas Aquinas Barbero, better known to friends and parishioners alike as Father Tom, was starting to feel old. Oh, not to the point of infirmity - he was still more than capable of carrying out his duties - but it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was going to have to start thinking about the future. A point that the recent letter from His Excellency, the Bishop of Philadelphia, made quite clear. He scanned the lines, reading them over again, his brow furrowing as he considered how best to handle the situation. For some time now, he'd been giving careful consideration to his eventual successor, and now it looked like young Father Jacobs would get the chance to prove himself. His decision made, he folded the letter up, slid it back into the envelope and went in search of his young protege.  
  
There was never any question about where to find him, not really. Any spare time he had was spent in the chapel, his faith seeming to draw him like a lodestone when he wasn't needed elsewhere. Sure enough, he was there now, kneeling in one of the pews, head bent, lips moving in silent prayer. Father Tom paused for a second to study him, wondering as he often had what sorrows weighed so heavily on his young friend that drove him here over and over again. He'd tried to draw him out, attempted to counsel him, but had met with little success, and eventually accepted that God would be the one to help the young man with whatever demons he wrestled with. And perhaps that was as it should be, but the battle would have to wait for another day, when there wasn't a pressing need to be answered.  
  
He waited until he heard him murmur, “Amen,” before asking, “Liam? Do you have a minute? I have something I need to talk to you about.”  
  
“Of course.” He crossed himself and rose, then headed back to the rear of the chapel to join his mentor. “How can I help you today, Father?”  
  
“We have a new seminary student that will be coming to stay with us for his final year before he enters the priesthood. I'll be taking care of his religious instruction, but I was hoping you could help as well.”  
  
Confusion appeared on the young man's face. “I'm not sure I understand, Father Tom. What would you like me to do?”  
  
He smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing too strenuous, I promise. He's been trained for the Latin Mass, and since you're the only one aside from myself that performs it, I was thinking he could serve as your acolyte.”  
  
“I'd be happy to help in any way I can, Father.”  
  
Father Tom clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Wonderful! Come on, then - it's almost dinner time, and I believe you promised me a chess rematch before then, didn't you?”  
  
After Liam won yet another chess match, the two men headed into the dining room. Father David was already there, chatting with an unfamiliar young man. “Ah, this must be William!” Father Tom said, going to greet him with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to St Cecilia's, my boy. I'm Father Tom, and this is Father Liam. I see you've met Father David already.”  
  
“Thank you.” The young man smiled and took his hand. “And I prefer Will - that is, if it's allowed.”  
  
He chuckled. “Of course it is. We're not so strict around here that we can't use nicknames.”  
  
The arrival of the food accompanied by Mrs Graves' heavy tread interrupted any further conversation. Directing Will to his seat, Father Tom went to take his position at the head of the table. Once the platters had been laid out and the housekeeper retreated, the men stood behind their seats and bowed their heads as Father Tom recited the evening grace. “Benedic Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi per Christum Dominum Nostrum. Ad coenam vitae aeternae perducat nos, Rex aeternae gloriae. Amen.”  
  
“Amen,” they all chorused. Chairs scraped over the floor as they all seated themselves for the meal. Father Tom picked up the platter of baked chicken and helped himself to two pieces, then passed it to Will, while Liam started the green beans circulating. For several minutes, the clink of spoons and the occasional murmurs of thanks were the only sounds in the dining room, as the men filled their plates and passed the dishes around the table. One of the first lessons a man learned at St Cecilia's was to do justice to the food, for hell had no fury like Mrs Graves if she suspected someone of not eating properly. Father Tom might be the leader of the parish, but there was no question about who ruled the rectory.   
  
Father Tom glanced over at Will as the almost nightly debate over the Phillies and their chance in the World Series began. The young man kept his head down, eyes fixed on his plate, but he seemed more shy than uninterested, so rather than engage him in conversation, he let him eavesdrop on the sports talk in silence, taking the opportunity to study him without his being aware of it.  
  
He was a pretty one, that was the most obvious thing about him, and Father Tom could already see there would be a good deal of sighing and pining from the women in his parish in the coming weeks. They'd done the same thing when Liam joined them, and Will was in a fair position to cause much the same stir, although he was almost the polar opposite of Liam, being slender and blue-eyed where the other man was broad and dark, but there was no denying either of their good looks.  
  
But according to the bishop, there was a good deal more to Will than just his looks. The young man had come to them shortly after his graduation, and his double major in English and Philosophy alone would have made him a desirable addition to the church, but when a thorough study of ancient languages had been factored in as well, he was well on his way to a short track to a bishopric and quite possibly even a cardinal's hat. He was going places, and Father Tom found himself grateful that his own protege hadn't been selected for such distinction. The holy Catholic Church needed men like Will, but it was a lonely life, with plenty of transfers and few chances to form real friendships, something he and his fellow parish priests were blessed with in abundance.  
  
Once everyone's plate was empty, Father Tom rose, waiting for the others to do likewise before he bowed his head once more and prayed, “Agimus tibi gratias, omnipotens Deus, pro universis beneficiis tuis, qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”  
  
“Deus det nobis suam pacem. Et vitam aeternam. Amen,” the men responded. And with that, dinner was finished.  
  
As Liam and David started to clear the table, Father Tom turned to Will and smiled. “Come on. I'll show you to your room and help you get settled in. You can attend Mass tomorrow with the parishioners, and then we'll set up a schedule for your lessons and your duties here.”  
  
“Sounds good.”


	2. Chapter 2

Will woke up to the sound of bells, just as the sun was rising. He wasn't used to sleeping so late, and he wondered if he'd missed the first call before he remembered that he wasn't at the seminary anymore. He was at St Cecilia's now, and it was Sunday - his first in his new parish. With a smile, he shoved his covers back and slid out of bed, hurrying to wash at the basin provided before he got dressed and went downstairs to the dining room to meet the others for breakfast.  
  
“Good morning, Will,” Father Tom greeted him with a smile. “I hope you slept well.”  
  
“Oh yes, very well,” he assured him, sliding into the same seat that he'd occupied last night. “Do you - I mean, can I -”  
  
His cheeks burned as the priest chuckled softly. “Not today, Will. We'll sit down and go over your duties tomorrow morning, both your study schedule and what will be expected of you in worship. Today is a day to give thanks and reflect on your new home, isn't it?”  
  
New home. Will nodded and did his best not to think about how long it had been since he'd had a place to call home. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”  
  
Father David walked into the room, followed swiftly by the housekeeper, who made several trips back and forth, bearing one large platter after another, heaped with fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and deliciously gooey cinnamon rolls. Father Tom rose to say grace, and as they all bowed their heads and murmured their responses, Sunday began.  
  
Halfway through breakfast, Will noticed that Father Liam's seat was empty. He glanced at it, then looked over at Father Tom, who gave him a reassuring smile and explained. “We keep to a few of the old-fashioned ways here; generally the celebrant for Sunday Mass doesn't eat until afterward. Liam will join us for lunch, but right now he's praying and preparing himself.”  
  
Fasting wasn't all that unusual, although it had never really come up at the seminary. But it seemed like things were different out here, so Will just nodded and applied himself to his breakfast once more. When it was over, he helped Father David clear the table, and went up to shower and dress for Mass. Sundays had always been a special day in his house growing up, with lots of little rituals that set it aside from any other day - flaky croissants and chocolate milk for breakfast, usually eaten at the table with his father, who snuck him the comics from the paper that allowed him to linger a few extra minutes longer than he was supposed to, the suit pants, button-down shirts, and ties that he'd tried so often to get out of wearing, the walk to church with his parents when it was fine out, his hands in each of theirs while they talked in soft voices over his head about whatever had been in the paper that morning, and then there was Mass. He'd always loved Mass, loved the rise and fall of the priest's voice as he prayed, the glorious sound of the choir, and especially loved the way the light shone through the stained glass windows to produce soft colors that seemed to hold the essence of Heaven itself. Afterward, there had been coffee for his parents and hot chocolate for him, before they went home to change, have lunch, and start the afternoon.  
  
It looked like Sundays were going to take on a different rhythm now, but they'd still be special. Maybe that was why he'd been drawn to the priesthood - if anyone understood the importance of ritual, it was the church of Rome. When he was dressed in his neatly pressed black shirt and pants, Will picked up his rosary and Bible, and went back downstairs to wait for the others in the living room. He didn't have to wait long before Father Tom and Father David appeared, both now wearing the same black suit that he was, with the white clerical band at the throat that proclaimed their profession to all. Soon he'd add one of his own to his clothes, a visible sign of his faith and dedication. Will wondered why the thought felt suddenly constricting, like he was contemplating a collar of iron instead of starched cloth.  
  
He didn't have long to think about it, though, because they walked over to the sanctuary and took their seats in the front pew. The sanctuary gradually filled with parishioners, and Will could feel the curious looks that studied him, the sensation like a hand creeping up the back of his neck. It was tempting to turn around and look back, and he smiled to himself as he thought about such a childish action, but refrained and waited for the service to start instead.  
  
The organist emerged from one of the side doors, seated himself, and began to play. Soon after, the choir joined in from the choir loft above them, and the procession down the aisle began. Two young boys, about 12 or so, were first, one carrying a candle lighter and the other the large cross that always started the service. They were followed by a high school boy with the thurifer in hand, and Will guessed that that would be his job fairly soon. Finally, Father Liam appeared.  
  
Will was struck once more by the sheer size of the man. He seemed even larger now than he had last night at dinner, and that was going some. The black cassock and dark green chasuble he wore suited him, the severe lines emphasizing the almost harsh masculinity of his face. Dressed for Mass, he seemed powerful, forbidding, and awe-inspiring, like one of the warrior angels Will remembered from his mother's art collection. He'd always loved those pictures, had always been captivated by them, and gazing at Father Liam as he moved towards the altar, he was struck by how closely he resembled them.  
  
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Will crossed himself along with Father Liam, murmuring, “Amen,” along with the rest of the congregation.  
  
“Gratia Comini nostri Jesu Christi, et caritas Dei, et communicatio Sancti Spiritus sit cum omnibus vobis.” The greeting gave him the same warm feeling it always did, as though the priest really was speaking for God, welcoming them all into His home.  
  
“Et cum spiritu tuo,” he responded quietly.  
  
Father Liam turned towards the altar, and the Mass moved on to the Actus Paenitentialis, followed by the uplifting Kyrie and finally the Gloria, which always filled him with a sense of sweet joy. “Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis. Laudamus te, benedicamus te, adoramus te, glorifcamus te, gratis agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam, Domine Deus, Rex caelestis, Deus Pater omnipotens. Domine Fili unigenite, Jesu Christe, Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris; qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis; qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis. Quoniam tu solus Sanctus, Tu solus Dominus, Tu solus Altissimus, Jesu Christe, cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris. Amen.”  
  
After the opening prayer, the acolytes moved forward, bearing the large Bible from the altar between them. In piping, childish voices, the offered the reading of the verse and psalm, and then Father Liam turned to the New Testament. “Lectio sancti Evangelii secundum Epistula I Ionnis, 4:18.”  
  
“Gloria tibi Domine.”  
  
“Timor non est in caritate sed perfecta caritas foras mittit timorem quoniam timor poenam habet qui autem timet non est perfectus in caritate.“ Father Liam closed the Bible and turned to face the congregation. “Verbum Domini.”  
  
“Laus tibi, Christe.”  
  
“What is fear?” he began. The question struck Will as particularly apt, and he listened intently. “Fear shackles us. It holds us back, imprisons us within ourselves, and keeps us from becoming who we truly are, who we should be. Who God wants us to be. Fear is the legacy of Eve, the constant companion that has dogged our heels ever since we left Eden, and fear is how Satan seeks to weaken us, to make us relax our vigilance so we will let him in. He uses our fear and twists it just like he does the truth to suit his own purposes, and then he makes false promises. He says that he can save us from fear, that he can deliver us, if we will just follow him. But only God can truly raise us up, only God can take away our fear and bring us peace instead.”  
  
As Father Liam spoke about fear, Will thought about the things he feared: fire, thunderstorms, violence, electric shocks, and being alone had to be the worst of them. There were countless others, though, small things that woke a nameless, sickening sense of dread deep inside him - he couldn't quite call it fear, but he knew he'd never liked them, and the list was so arbitrary as to be baffling. Glittering jewels, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol, blood, bright white bathroom tiles, cold metal, wheelchairs, red roses, cemeteries, bears, railroad tracks, and lawyers. He could understand that last one, since there weren't many people who didn't view lawyers with some kind of dread, but jewels and red roses? When he was a child, it had been the more usual things - horror movies, the dark, turning invisible, and monsters. For two years, he'd refused to go to bed if his closet and the space under his bed weren't checked, but his father had gone in every night and looked, then assured him that anything trying to hide and hurt him would be in for a world of hurt. He'd fallen asleep with a sense of security, safe in the knowledge that nothing could harm him with his father standing guard. Unfortunately, that hadn't lasted - things had hurt him, and his father wasn't there to watch over him any longer.  
  
“With Our Lord's help, we shall go forward without fear. Let us proclaim our faith.” Father Liam's voice broke into his thoughts, pulling him out of his increasingly melancholy musings.  
  
Will rose and bowed his head, letting his voice join with the chorus of others as they all began to recite, “Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorem caeli et terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Jesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula Deum de Deo, lumen de lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero, genitum, non factum, consubstantialem Patri: per quem omnia facta sunt. Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de caelis. Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine, et homo factus est. Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato; passus et sepultus est, et resurrexit tertia die, secundum Scripturas, et ascendit in caelum, sedet ad dexteram Patris. Et iterum venturas est cum gloria, iudicare vivos et mortuos, cuius regni non erit finis. Et in Spiritum Sanctum, Dominum et vi vivificantem: qui ex Patre Filioque procedit. Qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorifcatur: qui locutus est per prophetas. Et unam, sanctam, catholicam, et apostolicum Ecclesiam. Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen.”  
  
His unsettling musings on fear faded away beneath the familiar and comforting rhythm of the Mass as they sat back down. Father Liam turned back to the altar and began the Liturgia Eucharista, and the sonorous rise and fall of his voice lulled Will back into that safe place that he remembered from childhood, where redemption and Heaven were not just possibilities, but realities that waited for him with open arms. He felt the holy mystery of transubstantiation as Father Liam raised first the bread and then the golden cup up to the altar, reciting once again the story of the Last Supper, and he found himself holding his breath as they were laid back down, transformed by the glory of God.  
  
“Domine Jesu Christe, qui dixisti Apostolis tuis: Pacem relinquo vobis, pacem mean do vobis; ne respicias peccata nostra, sed fidem Ecclesiae tuae; eamque secundum voluntatem tuam pacificare et coadunare digneris. Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”  
  
He turned back around, his face alight with joy, looking ten years younger than the stern man that had first made his way into the church. “Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum.”  
  
“Et cum spiritu tuo,” the congregation chorused.  
  
“Offerte vobis pacem.” First Father Tom, and then Father David, turned to Will, smiled, and placed a kiss on his cheek while he returned the gesture.   
  
Once the activity in the church had settled, Father Liam returned to the altar and picked the bread up, his voice ringing out as he raised it in offering once more. “Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi; miserere nobis,” he intoned, breaking it in half. One part was laid on a linen napkin, while the other was held and blessed again. "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi; miserere nobis.” He broke this part in half again, then placed it on another napkin and picked up the discarded piece. “Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi; dona nobis pacem.” This part was also broken, and laid down with the rest.  
  
Stretching his hands out over the four pieces, the priest prayed, “Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi. Beati qui ad cenam Agni vocati sunt.”  
  
The bread was exchannged for a platter of communion wafers as the congregation responded, “Domine, non sum dignus, ut intres sub tectum meum, sed tantum dic verbo et sanabitur anima mea.”  
  
Father Liam turned around and walked down to the communion railing. Behind him, the altar boys collected the wine and communion wafers, and came to join him. Will rose and followed Father Tom to the railing, kneeling down just as Father Liam finished giving the altar boys communion. He stopped before Father Tom, then Father David, and finally Will. He looked up into dark eyes that shone with a kind light, then at the strong hand that held the wafer up before him.   
  
“Corpus Christi.”  
  
“Amen,” he said, and opened his mouth. Father Liam placed it on his tongue, then picked up the goblet, cradling it in both hands.  
  
“Sanguis Christi.”  
  
Will tucked the communion wafer beneath his tongue and lisped, “Amen.” He thought he saw the priest smile before the rim of the cup touched his lips. He drank, feeling the wafer dissolve with the wine, body washed away by blood, and rose as Father Liam handed the cup to the altar boy to be wiped while he moved on to the next parishioner. One by one, the congregation took communion and returned to their seats, where they bowed their heads for the prayer that followed.  
  
Father Liam gave thanks and blessed them, then said quietly, “Ite, missa est.”  
  
“Deo gratias,” they replied, rising one last time as Father Liam and that altar boys made their way back up the aisle. The organist began to play once more, and Mass was ended for another week. Will followed Father Tom into the vestibule to meet the people that made up the parish that he was now a part of.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam had spent the afternoon working in the garden, toiling under the late summer sun and as a result, he was sweaty, dirty, and tired beyond the telling of it, but he wouldn't have asked to be excused from the chore for anything. There was something about working the earth, nurturing growing things and losing himself in physical toil that he found deeply satisfying. He always slept well afterward, the deep, dreamless sleep of a laborer well-satisfied with his efforts.  
  
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it wasn't yet time for Father Tom and Father David to be back from their visits to the sick. He had time to himself, which meant he could enjoy a long, hot shower, and maybe even manage to sneak a piece of Mrs Graves' cheesecake before they returned. Humming tunelessly under his breath, Liam headed into the kitchen to get a glass of water, deciding to leave the cheesecake until after he'd showered. He started upstairs, already eagerly anticipating the sluice of hot water over his tired, filthy body, when a sound stopped him dead on the stairs.  
  
Light, tinkling notes of music, faint enough that he wondered if he could possibly hearing something. Then several chords followed, stronger than the notes, discordant and yet musical at the same time, and he couldn't keep still any longer. He followed the music as it grew faster, arriving in the study as a ripple ran up the keyboard and down again, and he was left staring in silence at the young man at the piano. It was the new seminary student - Will, he thought his name was - and while he knew he should turn around and leave him to his playing, he stood rooted, listening and watching.  
  
The music mellowed out, taking on a dreamy, almost melancholic sound that was reflected by the slightly sad expression on the young man's face. His eyes were closed, so he remained completely unaware of his audience, lost to everything but the music he was creating so skillfully with the gentle movements of his fingers over the keys. The chords slowed to a heavy-hearted sound filled with such longing that it took Liam's breath away, stopped for a second, then suddenly picked up as Will began to tap out a rapid melody with his right hand while his left play counterpoint, and the music grew nearly frantic until it calmed once more. Fast and then slow, running all over the keyboard until the hectic pace grew to a crescendoing grand finale in syncopated rhythm and he finished with a flourish on the final chords.  
  
When he finished, Liam burst into applause. The sound obviously startled him, because his hands came crashing down on the keyboard, his eyes flying open as he whirled around to see who'd heard him. “Hey, it's okay. I didn't mean to startle you,” the older man reassured him. “I just... that was really great!”  
  
A slow tide of deep pink moved up over his cheeks into his ears. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I wasn't sure if it was okay for me to be playing something not... something like that.”  
  
“I don't think anybody would mind,” he told him. “It's Will, right?”  
  
He nodded. “I finished my studies early, and Father Tom said I could come up to read, and the piano was right here, so I just... couldn't help myself, I guess.”  
  
Liam grinned. “I know how you feel. I'm the same way when it comes to Mrs Graves' cheesecake.” He chuckled, and was gratified to hear Will laugh as well. Walking into the room, he went to lean against the piano, near Will. “I'll apologize in advance for being all smelly, by the way. I was out in the garden, and I haven't had a chance to shower yet.”  
  
“You're not smelly,” Will argued, sniffing the air near him with a teasing smile. “It's... wholesome. Earthy, like sunlight and plants and life.” Another flush of pink crept up into his cheeks. “Sounds kind of stupid to say, but I like it.”  
  
“It's not stupid - it's poetic, really.” He liked how he put it, actually. He made grubbing in the dirt sound like it had a higher purpose. Looking down at his hands, Liam grimaced at the dirt he could see under his nails and in the creases of his knuckles. Okay, maybe it wasn't such an elevated pastime, after all. Certainly nothing like Will's piano playing. A quick glance at Will's hands showed them to be far cleaner than his, the short, neatly clipped nails were free of any dirt. His fingers were long and slender, too, like a pianist's or an artist's, while Liam's were broad and stubby, the hands of an Irish peasant, as his father used to say. Putting his hands down by his legs, he fought the urge to hide them behind his back. “So how long have you been playing?”  
  
A shrug answered him. “I don't really remember when I couldn't read music, so- young, but I don't know how old I was for sure. Have you always liked to garden?”  
  
“Yeah. My mother used to have a flower box outside our apartment, and I'd help her water and pull weeds. She wanted a bigger garden, but we couldn't af- I mean, we didn't live anywhere that had the space for it.”  
  
Will smiled, and Liam knew he'd heard the words he hadn't voiced, and sympathized with them. He found himself caught by the other man's eyes - they were a clear, vivid blue, like the morning glories he remembered his mother growing. They'd always seemed like the very essence of spring to him, their color one of the first to come up in the winter, and he wondered if it would be silly or poetic, to think that Will's eyes were just like spring, too.  
  
“You should take a picture of the garden and send it to her,” Will suggested, and Liam shook his head, pulling himself out of his brief fancy. Stupid, it was stupid to think of anybody's eyes as spring, to think of anything but spring itself as spring.  
  
“She died before I finished high school,” he said softly, pushing himself off the piano before he could start to remember exactly how she'd died, and all the years that had been wasted before she finally succumbed to the alcohol that stole her away from him. He started towards the door, but Will's hand shot out to grab his wrist before he could completely get away.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he offered. “My mother's gone too, so I -” Shaking his head, his lips twisted in a bitter half-smile. “I guess nobody really knows what it's like, though, do they? Anyway, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I just thought -”  
  
Liam nodded. “Yeah, I know. And you're right - she'd have loved seeing it.” He didn't immediately move to dislodge Will's grip, just looked down at him. Something passed between them in that second, a strange sort of electricity that both men seemed to feel, because Will let go of him just as Liam pulled away. “Guess I'd better go get that shower,” he mumbled.  
  
“Yeah, good idea,” Will replied almost vacantly. He shook his head as Liam walked off, then reached out to close the piano lid before getting up and heading downstairs to wait for Father Tom. There was something he needed to talk to him about.


	4. Chapter 4

_Light streamed in through the stained glass windows, filling the sanctuary with a soft ruby and blue glow. He loved this time of day - the morning worshipers had gone home, and the evening worshipers were still at work, so he generally had the church to himself. These quiet afternoons fed his soul, and he was certain that the communion with his God enabled him to better serve his flock._  
  
 _But today, it seemed he wasn't alone. When he entered the sanctuary, he heard a soft chanting, a low voice that seemed to wrap around him and draw him forward. Will was standing in front of the altar, facing the large cross, hands outstretched as he prayed. He smiled at the sight, remembering how often he'd slipped into the sanctuary to practice the liturgy in his own days as a seminary student. Liam knew he should leave him alone, but he couldn't seem to turn away. There was such purity, such beauty in the way he surrendered whole-heartedly to the ritual, that he couldn't bear to leave._  
  
 _As he watched, Will reached out and took the communion cup from the altar. He cradled it in his hands and lifted it high, then turned around and smiled at Liam. Holding the cup out to him, he said softly, “Per ip sum, et cum ip so, et in ip so,“ and as Liam started forward, he raised it to his lips and took a sip. A sudden sense of dread gripped him as the golden rim touched his lips, but before he could cry out to warn him, a bright light burst out of the cup, surrounding Will until it seemed to emanate from him._  
  
 _The cup clattered to the floor, the ring of metal on stone echoing in his ears, but Liam had eyes only for Will, who stood with his head back, eyes closed, an ecstatic, uplifted expression transforming his face into that of a true angel. Golden light played over his features, making him almost unbelievably, unbearably beautiful. He was radiant, shining from within like Christ Himself - no, even more beautiful. It was apotheosis, and heresy, to think of a man in such a way, but to Liam, who could only stand and watch, Will was like a young god, newly sprung from his Creator's hand. As though he could feel Liam's eyes on him, Will lowered his head, opened his eyes and smiled, stretching one hand out towards him. With Will's smile burning through him, Liam was suddenly aware that the other man's clothes had vanished, leaving him naked... and quite clearly aroused. “Wouldn't leave me this way, would you?” he asked huskily, the deep tones of his voice sending a shiver up Liam's spine._  
  
 _He swallowed and shook his head slowly. “I - I'll find you something to wear,” he offered, the words falling thickly from his lips._  
  
 _Will laughed softly. “Don't need clothes, pet.” The sudden accent that surfaced in his voice was strange, but oddly enough, seemed to fit him. It was almost natural, like he'd been made to speak that way. Liam wanted to ask about it, but Will raised his hand to caress his chest, and everything else ceased to matter. The only thing of any importance was watching that hand slide down over his abdomen to the hard shaft that jutted out from between his thighs. He wrapped his fingers around it and began to stroke, his moans echoing in the quiet sanctuary..._  
  
His own moan woke him, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes flew open. For a second, he lay stunned, hardly able to believe he'd actually dreamed of Will like that - naked, aroused, and... He swallowed another moan at the memory of what Will had done, how his hand had moved over himself, but a hard throb between his legs made him realize that the dream hadn't left him unaffected. His body was swollen, his sex straining against his pants, testicles full and heavy with an urgent need that he only dimly remembered from his adolescence.  
  
Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore it, tried to pray and mediate on the suffering of the Savior, like his advisor had told him to do when he first struggled with his body's demands in seminary. Sweat broke out on his brow as he fought the urge to reach down and touch, just like Will had in his dream, but he was determined to hold back. He was a priest now, and that meant he had to be pure, had to rise above the physical needs of the body, had to -  
  
A heavy pulse surged up from between his thighs, and he shuddered. Perhaps if he just shifted... after all, there was no prohibition against that, was there? Before he'd even finished the thought, his hand slipped down to close around the base of his shaft, adjusting it to lie more comfortably. Without quite meaning to, he squeezed as he moved, and the burst of pleasure that radiated out was almost unbearable. He shifted again, fingers tightening of their own accord, and with the third shift, his hips arched up against his hand, thrusting the full length of his sex against his hand.  
  
He told himself to resist, to let go and think once more about holy things, but only managed to open his hand and flatten it against himself. His hips thrust up automatically, seeking pressure and friction, shoving against his palm once, then twice and a third time... With the final thrust, he felt his sac draw tight just before pleasure ripped through him, a white-hot fire that threatened to engulf him the way the golden light had Will. His shaft jerked against his hand and he felt hot liquid cascade over his aching flesh, seeping into his pants as it quickly cooled and became clammy.  
  
Liam shot upright in bed, staring down at his lap and the offending hand that still lay upon it. The cloth clung to him, soaked with the evidence of his sin, the proof of his damnation. He'd broken his vow, given in to a weakness that he knew not even God could forgive. Bowing his head, the priest began to weep for his grievous sin and the hell that he knew would now await him upon his death.


	5. Chapter 5

Liam didn't think about Will the next day. He didn't think about him before he went to sleep that night, or while he was doing chores over the rest of the week, and he absolutely didn't think about him when Father Tom informed him that he'd be joining him for Mass on Sunday. And as he let himself into the vestry and began to lay out his clothes, he certainly wasn't thinking about Will doing the same thing in the smaller sacristy that the acolytes used.  
  
No, he would submerge himself in the ritual, just as he did every Sunday, and the disturbing thoughts that he hadn't been having would go away. Liam brushed a hand down over his neatly pressed slacks and shirt, then turned to the basin of water on the stand nearby. Dipping his hands into the cool water, he reached for the fresh cake of soap that sat next to it and began to wash up. “Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendum omnem maculam ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire,” he recited as he thoroughly scrubbed his hands. Laying the soap on the tray provided, he rinsed all traces of the suds off, then carefully dried his hands with the small white towel.  
  
Just as it did every Sunday, the symbolic cleansing wiped everything except Mass and the holy hour that he got to spend with God from his mind. Turning towards the array of clothing, he picked up the amice, shaking the linen length out, raising it and kissing the small cross embroidered on it before he touched it to his forehead and dropped it down to lie over his shoulders like a shawl. He tucked the edges in around his neck and tied it neatly at his waist, girding himself against the thoughts that might otherwise interfere with his duty. “Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam slutis, ad expugnados diabolicos incursus.”  
  
The long white alb was next, and he hesitated a moment before reaching for it. Would he be struck down for his presumption in garbing himself with something that proclaimed him pure of body and soul, worthy of celebrating Mass, when he'd sinned so egregiously just a few days ago? There was no choice, of course - he had to continue dressing, so he drew it on slowly, praying fervently, “Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruare sempiternis.”   
  
With the undergarments finished, he picked up the long black cassock that was one of the traditional signs of the clergy. “Dominus, pars hereditatis meae et calicis mei, tu es qui restitues hereditatem meam,” he murmured quietly, before drawing it over his head and smoothing it down until it fell to his ankles.  
  
He couldn't stop his cheeks from heating as he picked up the thick silk cord of the cincture, wrapping it quickly around his waist before he yanked it tight. “Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentia et castitatis,” he mumbled, wishing that the simple act of tying the length could indeed quench his unruly passions and make him truly pure and strong enough to lead the way he was meant to.   
  
Taking the strip of dark green cloth from where it lay folded atop the pile of his outer garments, he began to wrap it around his left forearm, grateful as he tied it that he'd never had to do battle with the sloth that it was meant to guard against. “Merear, Domine, portare manipulum fletus et doloris; ut cum exsultatione recipiam mercedem laboris.”  
  
Next came the matching stole, draped carefully across the back of his neck, crossed over the center of his chest, and tucked beneath his cincture before it was allowed to fall the rest of the way to his knees. He smiled at the reminder of his place in God's kingdom, the visible sign of his Creator's place for him. The stole and the white clerical collar were his favorite pieces to wear, the proof of his dedication to his faith that had stirred something in his soul ever since he was young. “Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis: et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum,” he chanted quietly.  
  
Finally, he turned to the large chasuble, reaching out to touch the large cross on the back. It was vanity to admit it, but Liam loved the rich cloth with its hand-embroidered decorations. The quaestor had purchased the new chasubles last year, saying that the parish was growing enough to justify something 'a little more elaborate'. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the day of his dedication, when he'd prostrated himself before the altar and felt the heavy weight of the mantle cover him, rendering him dead to the person he used to be. Reverently pulling it on, he held his hands open and turned his face upwards, offering a heartfelt prayer in a near whisper. “Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meam suave est et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen.”  
  
When he was fully dressed, he picked his rosary up, kissed the cross, reached up beneath the chasuble to tuck it beneath the maniple, then headed out into the sanctuary to make sure the readings were properly marked in the Bible on the altar. He had just checked the gospel reading when the smaller sacristy door off to the side opened and Will walked into the sanctuary. Liam turned to greet him, but his smile faded away as the thoughts he hadn't been having rushed back in with his first sight of him.  
  
For the first time in Liam's life, he found himself struck dumb by someone else's physical appearance. Will was beautiful - there was no other word for it. Dressed in a long black cassock with a white tunic that covered him to the waist and a green collar that matched Liam's chasuble, he resembled an angel that had somehow wound up on earth. The sandy curls and large blue eyes that gave him a cherubic look only added to the illusion, making him look thoroughly innocent and young enough that Liam immediately felt like some particularly loathsome pervert for even thinking of him in a carnal manner. Bad enough that he'd lusted after a fellow servant of God, but to lust for one so young... it was the worst kind of desire.  
  
Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, “I've already marked the readings, but you could check the candles. Make sure the wicks are all intact, and stand them upright, so they'll light easily.” He could see that his brusque tone caught Will off-guard, but the younger man simply nodded and went to do as he'd been told.  
  
Liam left him to his work as he went to get the chalice and communion platter. He placed both on the altar just as Will finished and returned to the front of the sanctuary. “What do we do now?”  
  
It was a perfectly reasonable question from a young man serving his first Mass as a seminarian, and Will certainly wasn't to blame for Liam's thoughts that turned towards things he knew they shouldn't, but he bore the brunt of the priest's displeasure anyways. “We pray,” he told him shortly. “And we meditate and thank God for allowing us to serve Him.”  
  
A faint flush rose into his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just - sorry.” He went to light a candle at the shrine of the Sacred Heart, then knelt on the prayer bench and bowed his head, his lips moving silently as he began to pray.  
  
For a few minutes, Liam watched him, his conscience eating at him more and more with every passing second. He'd taken his personal aggravation out on an innocent, loosed rash words that had injured his fellow man despite the prayers he offered up as part of his vesting to help guard against evil thought, deed, and yes, speech, as well. He felt about two inches tall as he walked down to join Will at the shrine, offering up his own prayer to do better.  
  
When they were finished, each man rose and Liam turned to look at him. “I'm sorry,” he said simply. “I wasn't - I didn't sleep well, and I took it out on you.”  
  
Will nodded. “Apology accepted. I guess I shouldn't be so sensitive, but coming from you... it hurt more than it should've, I guessed.”  
  
It was an odd thing to say, and he asked, “Why?” before he thought better of it.  
  
He hunched his shoulders and looked down at the carpet. “That afternoon, in the study...” As Will peeked up at him through his lashes, Liam caught a brief flash of blue.  
  
Was he saying... could Will be as attracted to him as he was to the young student? He stared at him for a little while, frozen in shock, unsure of how to respond. Will seemed to take his silence as encouragement, or maybe he just got tired of waiting, but a slender hand stole up to touch his cheek lightly, and then he looked up at him and lips brushed against his.  
  
His first kiss, and while he couldn't say he'd thought too much about it, he'd certainly never expected it to come from another man in a church after he'd taken holy vows to serve as a priest! It was soft, tentative, and chaste, and it didn't last long before he broke away and took a step back. He shook his head, denying both kiss and giver, and when Will simply stood and looked at him, he ground out, “You can't do that, Will. It's a sin to carry such desire for another man.”  
  
Will flinched almost imperceptibly and averted his face. “I know,” he said softly. “I just... I can't help it. And I thought... I thought that maybe -”  
  
“I'd join you in sin?” Liam barked out, ignoring the deep red that suffused the young man's cheeks. “You won't tempt me into that kind of depravity, boy. Go get changed out of your cassock - you can't serve at Mass after that kind of sin.” Will's eyes widened with the order, and Liam held a hand up to forestall any protest. “I'll tell Father Tom you aren't well. It's my hope you'll use the time to pray that the Lord cures the sickness in your soul that's bringing you to this desire.”  
  
This time there was no denying the way he cringed, turning his head as though he'd been struck. “I'm sorry,” he repeated. Before anything else could be said, he whirled around and fled, leaving Liam standing alone in the sanctuary, wondering how he could possibly serve at Mass with his own sins weighing his soul down. At least Will had the courage to act on his wishes, even if to do so was foolhardy. Liam suffered in a solitary void, unable to confide in another, lest his monstrous yearnings be brought to light.


	6. Chapter 6

Liam didn't look up when he heard the click of the confessional door closing. Confession was one of his least favorite duties, one he often managed to talk one of the other priests into handling in exchange for his help somewhere else, but Father Tom had been quite specific in his assignments today. So that left him stuck in the confessional, counting the minutes until he could be free again.  
  
He couldn't have said why he hated confessional duty so much, but it never failed to make him uneasy. Something about the small room with its screened windows on either side made his skin crawl, and listening to the litany of sins that were inevitably paraded before him seemed only to make it worse. The same basic sins were listed over and over again: lustful thoughts, masturbation, fornication, blasphemous thoughts and swearing, gluttony, petty thefts and small lies, with the occasional act of adultery thrown in for good measure. He knew the Bible said human beings were sinful by nature, but what he didn't know was why the sins were almost all the same.  
  
The wooden slat over the window slid to the side and a low, unmistakable voice said, “In nomini Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Liam crossed himself along with the penitent, and was about to ask what his sins were, when he continued, sliding seamlessly into the phrases that the laity seldom used anymore. “Confiteor Deo omnipotenti et vobis, fratre, quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo, opere et omissione, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, omnes Angelos et Sanctos, et vos, fratre, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.”  
  
It was the first time he'd heard Will speak Latin aside from Mass, when his responses merged with the rising swell of the congregation, and the effect on him was unsettling, to say the least. He shifted on his bench, trying to quell the sudden flush of arousal that came from listening to the low baritone play over the words, its pleasant tone enhanced by the natural poetry of the language. “Begin,” he instructed him, hoping that they could hurry through this. How many sins could a fellow priest have, anyway?  
  
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession.” One week? Was that all it taken for his entire world to be turned upside down and inside out?  
  
“What are your sins, my child?”  
  
“Many times have I had impure thoughts. Three times have I touched myself in a carnal fashion, and once have I kissed -”  
  
“We will not speak of that,” Liam hissed, forgetting the anonymity that was supposed to exist in the sudden surge of panic that gripped him when he heard Will mention their kiss.  
  
Will's head snapped up and he saw his eyes widen as they darted to the screen. “Father Liam?” he asked, his own careful manner falling away with the revelation of his confessor. When there was no immediate answer, he swallowed hard and attempted to remember the rest of his sins. “I, uh, I hold desire in my heart for one forbidden to me, and I -” He cut himself off and shook his head, unable yet to voice the doubts that had begun to creep into his heart. “For these and all past sins am I truly sorry,” he finished.  
  
“Are you, really?” The quiet question seemed to confuse him, and he opened his mouth as if to ask for clarification, but Liam didn't give him the chance. “You mention a struggle with impure thoughts and desire, and these are human things. But the other... that's a mortal sin, and you must repent of it. You can't - you can't continue to do that and remain in God's grace. And if you're not in God's grace...”  
  
“I can't serve in the church- I know,” he finished. “But how do I help it? I feel like - I don't know what to do. I'm lost, and I can't find my way. Like Moses, I'm - I'm a stranger in a strange land. What can I do to stop - to make this go away?”  
  
The despair in his voice tugged at Liam with an almost physical pull, and he closed his eyes for a second, then offered the same advice his confessor had once given him. “You must resist your carnal desires. These urges are sent to test us, to try our faith and tempt us from the path of righteousness. When you are tempted to sin, pray the Rosary and meditate on the suffering of Our Lord. Let his pain lead you to redemption.”  
  
For a long moment, there was no reply. He wondered what he was thinking, whether he had actually listened to his words, or if they'd been wasted on him. Finally, Will said softly, “I will.”  
  
Now for the part he hated most. “For your sins, I want you to review the stations of the cross each night after vespers for a week,” he instructed him. “Use them to help you in your meditations, and seek Our Lord's guidance to tame your fleshly desires.”  
  
“I wish you could help me,” he murmured. “It wouldn't seem so hard if you were there... if I could talk to you about -”  
  
“Recite your act of contrition,” he barked, ignoring the plaintive tone that made him want to wipe all the other man's cares away.  
  
He saw the shadowy form of Will bow his head as he began to pray, his soft voice catching occasionally, as though he were fighting back tears. “Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eqaue detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum, sed praesertim quia offendi te, summum bonum, ac dignum qui super omnia diligaris. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia tue, de cetero me non peccatorum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum. Amen.”  
  
Liam's chest tightened as he listened to the stumbling words, so different from the fluid language of earlier. He wanted to go into Will's side of the confessional, gather the other man in his arms, and soothe away the pain he could hear in his voice with kisses and soft caresses. And that, of course, was the exact reason that he could never be alone with Will again, after this. There was too much temptation here, too much yearning - not just for his body, but for something more, something that, he instinctively knew, could tear the safe world he occupied apart and leave him forever changed if he gave in to it.  
  
“Father?” The hesitant question made him realize that Will had finished his recitation and was waiting for absolution.  
  
Taking a shaky breath, Liam raised his hand and touched the screen lightly. “Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges. Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi, merita Beatæ Mariæ Virginis et omnium sanctorum, quidquid boni feceris vel Mali sustinueris sint tibi in remissionem peccatorum, augementum gratiæ et præmium vitae æternæ.”  
  
Will crossed himself along with his motion as he gave him his formal absolution, but he still looked so miserable that Liam couldn't help adding, “I forgive you, Will.”  
  
A radiant smile broke out, like the sun bursting from behind the clouds, so infectious and beautiful that he smiled as well. Too soon, the young man seemed to remember where he was, and how severely he'd been chastised, and he looked down once more, but Liam didn't think he'd ever be able to forget that moment of sweet, pure joy that he'd been privileged enough to witness. “Thank you.”  
  
He made the sign of the cross against the grate and gave the only answer he could: “Vade et amplius jam noli peccare.”


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the day passed in a slow, tense crawl. When evening vespers failed to bring him any peace, Liam sought permission to retire early, pleading a headache. Father Tom agreed, with a concerned look that made his guilt over the lie gnaw at his stomach, drawing it into a tight knot that he already knew no amount of antacid would help. But even that couldn't mask what truly ailed him, the heaviness in his loins that had grown steadily ever since Will's confession.  
  
Even now, hours later, remembering the low voice that had spoken of carnal knowledge and desire was enough to bring him to full aching hardness, and he groaned softly as his imagination caught fire. What might have happened if he hadn't cut the confession short? What if he'd asked Will to tell him about the things he'd done to himself, how he touched himself? His sex hardened further as he thought about it, and he pictured sitting on the confessional bench while Will described it all in lurid detail.  
  
Without being fully aware of his actions, he opened his pants and reached inside, closing his hand around his aching shaft. He sank down onto the edge of his bed, imagining himself back in the confessional, sliding a furtive hand inside to ease his need while Will spun a tale of desire and wanton sin and -  
  
“Oh God,” he moaned, squeezing himself when his sex jerked in his hand. Suddenly, it wasn't enough. He needed more, needed flesh... Shoving his pants and boxers down, he looked down at the erection that sprang free, swallowing hard before he curled his fingers around it once more. The difference between skin and cloth was electric, and a shock of pure pleasure wrenched another moan free before he could stop it. What would Will's reaction have been if he'd done this in the confessional? Would he have been shocked and repulsed, or would he possibly have joined in?  
  
He began to work his hand slowly along his length, closing his eyes as he thought about Will's voice growing husky with need as he described his sins. He'd make him tell him all the details, everything he thought about, how often he indulged and how long it took him to reach climax. Will would squirm on his seat, unable to help getting hard as he talked, unaware that Liam was using his confession to feed his own desires. Soon, though, he wouldn't be able to help himself, and he'd hear cloth rustling as Will gave in to the impetus and joined him, his hand working furtively in his lap, sliding over his hard -  
  
“Father Liam?” A low voice at the door jerked him out of his fantasy and he wanted to scream when he recognized it. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you call out.”  
  
“I'm fine, Will,” he called back. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”  
  
There was no reply for a minute, and he wondered wildly if Will was actually going to open the door to check on him. He looked down at himself, at the hand that was curled around his sex, and saw it pulse at the thought of Will pushing the door open to find him like that. A drop of clear liquid formed at the tip, and he wiped it away instinctively, then bit his lip to hold back a moan at the sleek sensation of his thumb skating over the sensitive flesh. Thankfully, he heard Will's footsteps retreat, and he was left in solitude once more.  
  
In the silence that remained, he looked down at himself again, at the rigid flesh that his hand gripped so tightly, and a hot wave of shame swept over him. This was more than just sin; this was depravity, and if he didn't stop now, he could very easily become a slave to carnality. So many had fallen beneath the onslaught of this kind of pleasure before him - how could he even hope to be different? No, it had to stop before it was too late and his soul was forfeit.  
  
He started to open his hand, but as he shifted, his hips arched up, pushing into his grasp, and he closed it tighter instead. The sudden squeeze sent pleasure snaking through him, and he did it again, slowly laying back on the bed, eyes drifting closed as he let fantasy and physical sensation take over once more.  
  
What if Will had opened that door and seen him like this, hand wrapped around his shaft, obviously in the midst of his own sin? He pictured him coming inside and closing the door behind him, then walking over to the bed and removing his hand, replacing it with his own. The thought of those slender fingers wrapping around him and stroking, first slowly and then with growing confidence, made Liam harder than ever. He pushed up into his hand, hips falling into a rhythm that quickly picked up speed and force until he was panting, struggling to keep quiet while his body took over.  
  
A sudden image of Will using his mouth instead of his hand sent a hot flash of desire through him and then he was gasping, his hips shoving hard into his fist as he released in long spurts, the sticky strands shooting out in long streaks that covered his black shirt with undeniable evidence of his sin.  
  
For long moments after his member was once more limp and spent, he lay still, too shocked from the last images to really move. What had made him think of that? Why had he pictured Will's lips opening for him so easily, as though it was something he'd seen hundreds of times? He knew such perversions existed, had heard more than one parishioner confess them, but to think of it in connection to himself... it was unimaginable, truly unthinkable that he should want such innocence corrupted like that.  
  
Eventually, he managed to force himself to rise and take the soiled clothes off, wincing at the stains that proclaimed his transgression. He walked over to the basin and washed himself, plunging his hands into the cold water and splashing handfuls over his skin, disdaining the washcloth that would have mitigated some of the bone-racking chill. For his depravity, he deserved much more than an icy bath. Perhaps he could start by fasting tomorrow...


	8. Chapter 8

Father Tom had been surprised at Liam's request to fast, but hadn't argued the point. They were all free to deal out whatever penance they saw fit for their own sins and struggles, and Liam wasn't the first to decide that a fast would help him. He spent mealtimes for the next three days in the chapel, praying the Rosary, trying to contemplate his sins rather than the aromas of roast beef, chicken, and chocolate cake that he'd smelled as he walked by the kitchen. By vespers each night, he was uncomfortable and irritable, both from lack of any food other than the slices of bread and cups of water that were proscribed by the rules of fasting, and from the distinct sense that none of the Heavenly Host cared all that much whether he ate or not.  
  
But at least he was too hungry to think about anything but food at night, and while that wasn't much of a consolation, it would do. When he went down to breakfast the morning after his fast ended, he felt marginally better, just as he usually did after carrying out a penance. Something about being able to suffer for the wrongs he committed felt right, as though he were truly expiating the sin rather than simply apologizing for it and agreeing not to do it again. Action suited him better than words in that regard, and he was grateful to the church that allowed him to express that.  
  
For a few weeks, he existed in a state of quiet jubilation. Desire and temptation had been met, and vanquished through prayer and sacrifice. Advent would soon be arriving, and the anticipation of it spread quickly through the rectory, as they all loved the Christmas season. Father Tom busied himself with preparing his homily for Christmas Mass, while Father David began to recruit children for the nativity play. Liam was left to hear confession in the others' absence, while Will was given the task of decorating both church and rectory, draping holly and lights along the pews and staircases. The Christmas tree they all prepared together, stringing popcorn and dried cranberries at nights while they watched TV and shared stories of childhood Christmas memories and traditions.  
  
They were allowed to go home for a visit at Christmastime, but only David took advantage of it. Liam knew why he didn't impose on his father, as he'd never forgiven him for 'throwing his life away' by joining the church, but he wasn't sure why Will stayed. As Christmas drew closer, he noticed that Will grew quieter, some of his usual inner light fading, as though the season's approach touched a wound inside. On Christmas Eve, he had just finished shoveling the walks in preparation for midnight Mass when he heard the faint sounds of a piano playing 'What Child Is This' drifting out from the chapel. He stepped inside to see Will seated at the instrument, eyes closed, his head bent over the keys. Struck by the melancholic beauty of the song, he failed to notice the silver streaks of tears along Will's cheeks until the song was finished, but once he'd seen them, he couldn't ignore them.  
  
The last few notes of the coda were still lingering in the air when Liam lost the battle to keep silent. He couldn't witness Will's pain any longer without trying to help. “What's wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the quiet that had settled over the chapel after the song.  
  
Will's head jerked up, his eyes flying open, and the haunted look in them made him wish he'd left him alone instead of speaking. He didn't answer immediately, and Liam was about to slip back out when he heard a low voice reply, “Wishing I could go home again, I guess. It's kind of hard not to have my family with me at Christmas.”  
  
“You could go home if you wanted to. Why didn't you ask Father Tom when he was setting up Father David's trip?”  
  
He shook his head, and Liam saw a tear slide down his cheek as he drew in a shaking breath. “There's nobody there anymore. My parents -” Another shudder racked the slender body as he fought for composure. “They've been gone for three years now.”  
  
It was obvious that his pain was still fresh, and Liam wondered what it would have been like to have parents like that, to love someone deeply enough that you still cried for them years after they were gone. His own father had been nothing more than an abusive bastard, and after his mother turned to alcohol, it had been a relief when CPS took him out of the home and placed him in a group home. The kindness of the brothers there had been the first he'd ever known, and joining the church had been an easy decision once he was of age. But Will had had loving parents, and a real home, only to lose it all.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. He wanted to go over to him and wrap his arms around him, hold him and reassure him that he'd never have to hurt like that again. There was no way to be sure of that, though, and certainly no way that he could see such a promise through, so the lame apology was all he could offer.  
  
“Thanks.” Will looked back down at the keyboard, and Liam could see that he really wanted to be alone, but was too polite to ask. He didn't bother giving him an excuse, just turned around and left, giving the younger man the time to himself that he needed. When Will joined them all for midnight Mass, he seemed calmer, despite his red eyes, and Liam found himself praying for the young man's peace instead of his own when they all knelt and turned to the altar just before Christmas arrived.  
  
After the holidays, life at the rectory settled back into its usual pace, with plenty of work to keep them busy. The long, cold winter was hard on their parish, and Liam spent many days going out to help shovel walks and driveways for some of the older members of the church, grateful for the chance to use the physical power that he'd been given.  
  
Spring was late in coming that year, and the Lenten fast seemed to rouse a familiar demon inside, because he couldn't seem to stop thinking of Will. Memories of Christmas Eve in the chapel were turned over and over in his thoughts and dreams, and in them, he didn't walk away, but went to Will and held him like he'd wanted to, kissed his hair, and promised to take care of him forever. And Will welcomed him, nestled closer in his embrace, and whispered about never wanting to leave.  
  
With the reawakening of the earth seemed to come a renewed lust. Thoughts of Will beneath him, against him, or over him were seldom far from his mind. He woke hard and aching from dreams of him, and had even soiled his sheets in his sleep more than once. If he didn't know for certain that Will was human, if he hadn't heard him recite prayers and scripture without faltering, he might have suspected him of being some kind of incubus, a demon of lust sent to tempt him while he slept.  
  
By the time Good Friday arrived, Liam was growing desperate. All of his hard-won peace of mind had vanished in a matter of weeks, leaving him once more aching for what he knew he could not have. After another night of dreams that tempted him even closer to the abyss of sin and depravity, he fled to the chapel, where he knelt before the statue of the Archangel Michael, protector of the innocent and banisher of evil. Looking up into the stern stone face, he prayed in a shaking voice, “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices depracamur: tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis, Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen.”  
  
He waited for the sense of peace that had never before failed to answer his prayers, but there was nothing. Just an emptiness inside that was filled with the same desolation, and he wondered if he'd been abandoned. Had God decided that he wasn't worth saving and given his soul into Lucifer's hands? And if He had, how could he hope to fight not only the forces of evil without but also the overwhelming desire within on his own?


	9. Chapter 9

_Darkness shrouded him, and it wasn't a friendly darkness - it was cold and forbidding, and it pressed in on him until he felt like he might suffocate. He struggled forward, gasping as the darkness seemed to squeeze even tighter, icy phantom fingers closing around him to drag him further back into the forbidding depths of blackness, where he would never get free. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but nothing emerged, for the void around him dove inside him, worming its way towards his very heart._  
  
 _He was going to die here, swallowed by the darkness, and he knew in that instance that hell wasn't the fiery furnace he'd always been told it was; fire gave heat and light, and hell was unending cold and dark forever and ever. A shudder ripped through him, as he heard a wild, mad laugh echo about him just before he closed his eyes, and he knew it was a demon come to claim him, but then a bright light burned white on his eyelids and the laughter turned into screams. Heat crawled over his skin, warming him without burning as it chased the remnants of darkness and cold away, but he didn't open his eyes, too afraid to see what was so fierce that it had frightened hell itself off._  
  
 _A hand on his shoulder told him that, whatever it was, it wouldn't wait forever. Summoning all of his courage, he opened his eyes and stared up into a pair of vivid blue eyes. Will smiled down at him and pulled him to his feet - he hadn't realized he'd fallen, but apparently the darkness had driven him to the floor. When he was standing once more, Will took his hand and led him out of the room, giving him no choice but to follow him._  
  
 _They walked down a seemingly unending hallway for a long time, and Liam slowly became aware of the fact that Will had yet to say a word, not to tell him where they were going or say anything about his strange new ability to banish the darkness of hell. He thought about asking, but a glance over at the younger man made him reticent, for he looked so calm and peaceful in the quiet stillness of the hall that he didn't want to break it. And the longer they walked together, the more Liam found himself sinking into the serenity that surrounded the other man, the silence around them healing something inside himself that he hadn't even really known was broken until that very moment. Finally they stopped in front of a thick wooden door. Will stepped aside, leaving Liam facing the smooth surface, obviously waiting for him to open it. Closing his hand around the handle, he pushed the heavy door open, sucking a sharp breath in as he caught sight of the tableau that waited for him behind it._  
  
 _A large bed dominated the room, but it wasn't the crisp white sheets that held him as though entranced. They'd apparently surprised a pair of lovers, although neither looked away from each other to see him standing at the threshold. He realized belatedly that the bodies shifting and moving against one another were engaged in the most intimate of dances, and a second after that both bodies were male. Once he'd noticed, however, he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from them._  
  
 _They were beautiful - one of them ethereally pale, his skin shining in the moonlight that filled the room until he looked like he'd been carved from a block of translucent soapstone, while his partner was a burnished golden lion, his body rippling over his lover's as he moved against him, taking and laying claim to him in a shockingly primitive display._  
  
 _“Qui cum Passioni voluntarie traderetur, accepit panem et gratias agnes fregit, deditque discipulis suis, dicens: Accipite et manducate ex hoc omnes: hoc est enim corpus meum quot pro vobis tradetur,” a low voice murmured in his ear._  
  
 _He didn't need to look to see that it was Will, not when he could feel him behind him like a burning brand. But what did he mean by that? How could anyone equate this scene with their Lord's Passion? Death didn't live in that bed, and those bodies were anything but broken, although the coloring was close enough that they might be mirror images of himself and -_  
  
 _No. He couldn't think about that, couldn't allow himself to even begin to draw those kinds of images. That way lay sin and depravity, the kind of ugliness that could only taint what he was seeing now. He shook his head, and as if they sensed his denial, the couple on the bed broke apart briefly. Liam watched in horror as the larger man raised his head back and opened his mouth to reveal sharp, glistening teeth an instant before he plunged his head down, his teeth sinking into his lover's throat._  
  
 _“Simili modo, postquam cenatum est, accipiens et calicem, iterum gratias agens dedit discipulis suis, dicens: Acceipite et bibite ex eo omnes: Hic est enim calix sanguines mei novi et aeterni testamenti, qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum,” Will whispered as blood gushed into the man's mouth, painting his lips crimson before it ran down in bright red rivulets over his chin to stain the pale skin and white sheet beneath him._  
  
 _Something twisted low in his gut, a combination of desire, dread, and... hunger? “No,” he gasped, shaking his head frantically, attempting to deny both what he was seeing and its effect on him. “No, it's not - I'm not -”_  
  
 _A deep moan cut him off, and the guttural groans and grunts that followed were clear proof that neither man on the bed shared his revulsion. He watched in wide-eyed torment as the blond clawed at the broad back above him, leaving bloody trails that only drove his companion on, both of them moving faster until Liam saw them arch and buck against each other in an unmistakable manner._  
  
 _Will's hand on his shoulder turned him around, and he uttered a strangled cry when he saw the blood that ran down the side of his neck, as though he'd been the one who'd been savaged in the bed. “Hoc facite in mean commemorationem.”_  
  
 _Liam whipped around to look at the room, but he caught only a glimpse of yellow eyes and ridged foreheads before the door slammed shut, the force throwing him away from the threshold..._  
  
He woke with a heaving gasp, then coughed as his body protested the change in his breathing. Sweat sheened his body and his heart raced, pounding in his chest until he pressed a hand against it as though to keep it in place. When he could think beyond the rush of blood in his ears, he looked down at the goose pimples that covered his arms and wondered what he could have been dreaming about to have him waking up like this with no memory of it.  
  
Even though it was still a few hours before he needed to get up, he decided not to bother with going back to sleep. Shoving his covers back, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, and went to wash in the basin. Maybe a few extra prayers this morning wouldn't hurt, especially since it was Sunday and he had to celebrate Mass soon. It would be his first Easter Mass by himself, the thought enough to make him smile as he washed the last traces of whatever nightmare he'd had away.  
  
Liam took his time getting ready that morning, savoring the rich cloth that was only worn for this holiest day, the resplendent white and gold that made him feel like the bridegroom that Christ had compared himself to. It was only fitting, really, seeing as today was the day the church became His bride, the day it was reconsecrated and born completely anew. Jubilation filled his heart, a bright, beaming joy that stayed with him as he went downstairs to seek out the sacred haven of the sanctuary. It lasted until he stepped inside and found out that he wasn't the only one with that idea - apparently Will had decided to make his own preparations for Mass in the early morning hours.  
  
He turned around when he heard the door close, and for a long minute, the two men stared at each other. Heat kindled in Will's eyes, a vivid blue flame that Liam knew spelled disaster, but he didn't move, just stood still when the younger man began to walk towards him. He should leave, should turn around and hurry back to the safety of the rectory, and he told himself that that was exactly what he was going to do - as soon as his feet came unstuck from the floor. Images from his dream seemed to flash before his eyes, thoughts of the men on the bed straining against each other and moving together mingling with Will's approach until he felt dizzy with how much he wanted whatever was coming next.  
  
Will came to a stop just a foot away from him, so close that Liam's fingers itched. “Happy Easter, Father Liam,” he said properly, although the look in his eyes was anything but. “I've already set the candles out, but I wasn't sure what readings you wanted. Perhaps you'd care to instruct me?”  
  
Insolent little brat. As if he didn't know exactly what Liam wanted to instruct him in! Not that he had all that much knowledge, but he didn't think he'd mind learning right along with him. “I'll show you in a minute,” he answered, a bit surprised at the hoarse sound of his own voice. Will nodded and started to turn away, but Liam reached out to stop him, and without being quite sure how it happened, he pulled him close and lowered his head to claim the lips he'd been dreaming of ever since that first kiss.  
  
Their mouths smashed together, and the desire that had been simmering between them for months came roaring to the surface with the kiss. Liam's hands tightened on Will's shoulders, pulling the other man closer, while one of Will's hands slid down to seek the hard thrust of his erection where it pushed against his pants and tented his cassock. Liam's tongue shoved past his lips, delving into his mouth as fingers closed around him and squeezed, the firm grasp just this side of pain.  
  
It was the first time he'd ever been touched by a hand that wasn't his own, and the clumsy, fumbling grope was enough to make him gasp and shudder, pleasure overwhelming him until he lost all thoughts of control. Hot, pulsing jets shot out to soak his pants, and he hurriedly pushed Will's hand away before he could feel the dampness that was no doubt seeping through to his cassock. “We can't do this,” he blurted out, turning and hurrying away before Will could protest. Hopefully he could get himself under control and wash the worst of his sin away before Mass started.


	10. Chapter 10

Will had been trying to concentrate on his scripture studies without much success for the last hour. He needed to apply himself, he knew, but it was almost eleven, which meant it was almost time for -  
  
Sure enough, he heard the door in the next room close. Giving up on any more studying for the night, the young man laid his pencil down and closed his books, then cocked his head to one side, listening avidly to the sounds next door, the faint rustle of movement as his neighbor moved about in his usual nightly ritual. First the wash basin, the a quiet punctuated by spitting sounds as he tended to his teeth, and last, the creak of bedsprings under a body's weight as he settled onto the bed.   
  
Will let the sounds wash over him, finding an odd sort of comfort in the regularity and domesticity of them, and by the time the other man climbed into bed, he was sitting on his own mattress, waiting for him. The nightly routine sometimes made his chest ache in a strange way, as though he was regaining something precious that he'd lost, although he knew it made no sense at all. His life had been a solitary one, his childhood spent in his father's study and his mother's music room, and he'd been as happy as only a loved and petted child could be, never really feeling the need for anyone else around him. Even when he'd gone off to boarding school, he'd tolerated the other boys around him, but that was all. There had never been this sense of longing, this desire to be part of someone else's life, this growing yearning for someone else to share his life with.  
  
Not just someone, though - if he were being completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that. It wasn't some nameless, faceless stranger that he thought about when he tried to examine this new desire, but someone very familiar indeed. And also very off-limits, he reminded himself, shoving the thought of dark eyes and a warm smile out of his mind. Of course, once the image had been summoned, it refused to leave, and he wasn't inclined to work that hard to get rid of it. Especially when the first muted moan drifted out from behind the wall and the quiet calm of a few minutes was transformed into something else entirely.  
  
This was what he really loved about the nights, and his hands shook as he reached out to turn his bedside lamp off, plunging the room into darkness. Bedsprings twanged again as a body shifted, and Will lost any faint thought of resistance that he might've had. He stripped his shirt off, fingers rising to tease one dark nipple as soon as the cloth was gone. It was impossible not to think about someone else's hands on him, someone else's fingers brushing over the small nubs instead of his own. The pleasurable shock that slid through him in response was enough to make his hips arch up, his erection rubbing eagerly against his pants until he made short work of them as well.  
  
Once he was naked, he stretched out on his bed, dragging his hand down from his chest, splaying his fingers out as he slid over his abdomen until they brushed against his hard, needy sex. Wrapping his fingers around his shaft, he started to stroke himself, long, slow movements designed to draw the pleasure out as long as possible. Images began to take shape - Father Liam's hands moving over his body, a mouth sliding down to take him inside, a face contorted in bliss as he returned the favor...  
  
What would it be like? To touch another man, to feel him move against him when he couldn't stay still any longer? To taste him as his sex hardened, then began to weep with need, and eventually burst? He looked down at the shining tip of his own manhood, at the droplets that seeped out only to be rubbed into his skin, and his mouth watered. He wanted to know, wanted to lick and suck and taste, and he knew exactly who he wanted to do those things with.  
  
A faint groan from the room next door reminded him that his desires weren't completely unreciprocated. He licked his lips, and almost thought he could still taste his kiss, still feel his body shake against him. Had he completed in the sanctuary when he touched him? Will thought so, but he didn't know for sure, and the possibility had made him hard every time he looked at the other man since. Easter Mass had been a new definition of agony, what with his sex throbbing between his legs until he'd thought he would go mad. He'd barely managed to make it to the bathroom afterward before he lost control, too worked up to even open his pants, only able to stroke himself roughly through the fabric, and even then, it had taken three orgasms to give him any real relief.  
  
Biting his lip, he stripped himself faster, hips thrusting up, driving himself into his fist as he chased his climax. Any thoughts of sin or right and wrong had vanished in the haze of lust and need that gripped him, and the only thing that mattered was the hard pulse of his shaft in his hand. He thought he heard Liam groan again, deeper and harsher, and the sound made his sac draw up tight, hardening him still further until he couldn't wait any longer and he arched up, semen shooting out to cover his chest and abdomen. The small grunts that accompanied his orgasm should have filled him with shame, but instead the little sounds gave him a hot, dirty sort of satisfaction, and he shivered as he milked the last pulses out.  
  
For a few seconds, he lay still, recovering his breath and basking in the afterglow. Eventually, the cooling liquid began to get uncomfortable, and he wiped himself off with a corner of the sheet, chuckling softly as he thought about the times he'd done the same thing as a teenager, furtively jerking off in the dorms and hastily cleaning up afterward. At least here he had a private room, so he supposed that was an improvement. "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa," Will whispered, although he didn't feel the words the way he knew he should. He lay back and closed his eyes, drifting slowly off to sleep with the thought that he was becoming more and more uncertain of his future path, both as a man and most especially as a priest.


	11. Chapter 11

When he first heard the soft knock at his door, he thought he might be imagining it. Everyone had gone to bed long ago, but after a few seconds, it came again. He laid his book aside and went to answer the door, his eyes widening at the sight of the man who stood on the other side. “Will?”  
  
“Can I come in?” he asked, glancing down the hallway as though he suspected someone were watching them. “Please? I - I need to talk to you, and it won't be long, I promise.”  
  
Against his better judgment, Liam nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He told himself that maybe Will just wanted counseling; maybe he was having problems with some of the demands of the priesthood. The hours could cause quite a problem with novitiaties' circadian rhythms if they weren't used to them. Liam remembered his own first years and how he'd had difficulty adjusting to the early rising times before he learned to ignore his nocturnal leanings and get to sleep right away. He closed the door behind him and gestured to the chair, waiting until he sat down before he went to sit on the bed. Once they were both settled, he said, “You shouldn't have come here like this.”  
  
“I know, but I need spiritual counsel, and I didn't know who else to talk to.”  
  
“Perhaps Father Tom -” he began, but Will shook his head.  
  
“No. It needs to be you. After all, you're the one, I - have these thoughts about.”  
  
Liam knew he should tell him to go, advise him to talk to Father Tom and then escort him from his room, but instead he found himself asking, “What thoughts?” in a husky voice that he barely recognized as his own.  
  
“I - I want -” Will stopped and licked his lips, then forced the words out. “I want you,” he blurted out. “I want to kiss you and touch you, and I feel like I'm going mad with it! I don't know what to do, how to make it stop, and all I can think about is you holding me and - and touching me.”  
  
Oh, God. He had to stop this, had to send him away now. “Touching you?”  
  
His cheeks darkened, but he nodded. “I don't - I can't stop,” he confessed. “I keep wanting this, wanting you, and I - I know I'm going to hell for it, but I really don't think I'd care about that if I could just kiss you again!”  
  
The passion and agony in his outburst tore at Liam's heart, and before he could think better of it, he was across the room, gathering Will against him. He thought he heard him sob, and he rocked him slowly, his hand sliding up the graceful curve of his spine to cradle his skull, holding him close. “Shhh, Will,” he murmured. “I'm sorry, I didn't know, didn't realize you felt so strongly...”  
  
Wrenching himself away, Will stared up at him, blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why should you?” he asked raggedly. “It's not like knowing would change anything, would it?” When Liam didn't answer immediately, he pressed forward. “I'd still want you and you'd still... you'd still refuse to have anything to do with me, isn't that right?”  
  
It was, but something deep inside told him that admitting it would make Will leave, so he just leaned his forehead against the other man's and took a shaking breath. “What if... what if you got those touches you want so bad?” he asked, scarcely able to believe what he was actually suggesting. “Would that help?”  
  
The harsh, indrawn breath he heard told him the thought affected Will almost as much as it did him. “Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”  
  
He never knew which of them moved first, but there was a mouth over his and a tongue that barely brushed his lips before he opened for it. And then Will was slipping inside, his tongue sleek and hot against his own, whimpering softly as his hands dug into his shoulders, but Liam didn't care because his whole world at that point had narrowed down to the man in his arms and the feel of their mouths fused together in what had to be the sweetest kiss in the whole history of kisses.   
  
Somehow, they moved from the floor up to the bed. There was no telling how long they would have gone on kissing if Will's hand hadn't stolen down to cup him through his trousers, squeezing and groping the same way he had in the sanctuary. Liam tore his mouth away from Will's with a gasped, “Wait, wait.” He ignored Will's piteous whimper in favor of biting his lower lip to see if it really was as juicy as it looked. It was. Brushing a soft kiss over the swollen lips, his whispered, "I want to touch you, too."  
  
A heartfelt groan answered him, and he saw Will's eyes go from blue to a heated almost-black. One hand caught hold of his and led it to a hard bulge that matched his own. He followed Will's lead, cupping and squeezing, and when he felt the cloth beneath his hand begin to dampen, he wondered if he was about to take Will to the same heaven he'd touched that day.  
  
Will moaned and it was like a demon had been unleashed inside him. He plunged his tongue into his mouth, unzipped his pants and started to reach inside, when Liam caught his hand. “No skin,” he said quietly, as though somehow that could make what they were doing any less of a sin.  
  
His even tone seemed to have a calming effect, because the frenzy faded from his eyes. Will nodded and Liam released him. Long fingers wrapped around him, the thin cloth of his boxers proving little barrier to the touch. He could feel the heat of Will's hand, feel the strength in his grip as he began to stroke him, working his fist over the length of his shaft in a slow motion that teased every bit as much as it satisfied. It was like a fire being stoked inside him, tiny flames that could all too easily grow into a raging inferno that would consume them both alive if he wasn't careful.  
  
But he was careful. Liam told himself this as he attempted to duplicate Will's motions on the other man, only to find that his pants were too thick to really allow him to feel the same sensations. He thought he heard himself growl, and then he was opening Will's pants, parting black cloth to reach beneath for the hard treasure that pushed against thin white boxers that matched his own.  
  
The hand that held him tightened its grip and began a smooth motion, gliding up and back down, establishing an even rhythm that ate away at his sanity more and more with every passing second. The rub of cloth over skin added to the sensation, and he had to seek out Will's mouth to muffle the moan that he couldn't hold back as he hardened still further and a fresh spurt of fluid soaked into his boxers.  
  
“Please,” Will groaned. “I need... please -”  
  
It was only then that Liam realized he'd been neglecting to return the pleasure he was receiving in kind. He started to close his hand around him, but Will stopped him. “Too much,” he panted.  
  
Nodding to show that he understood, Liam kissed him again, then slowly began to rub his length with his palm. “Is that better?” he whispered.  
  
The soft mewling sound he received in reply and thrust of Will's hips into his hand told him it was. He wanted to explore the arch of Will's throat and curve of his ear, but he didn't trust either of them to be quiet if he did, so he settled on kisses that muted the sounds neither of them could completely hold back. Even those scraped over the edges of his senses, and every faint noise that drifted up to his ears ratcheted his arousal up to almost unbearable levels, and he knew the point of no return was drawing near.  
  
“Will, you have to - ohhh, we have to - stop!” he groaned. He was too close to the edge of his control to keep going, but he couldn't seem to make his own hand stop moving. “Please, Will, I can't - I'm gonna - you need to stop!”  
  
“You're so close,” Will breathed. “I want to see, need to feel it. Please, let me - just once, let me see you, please,” he begged, his voice hitching with his own need.  
  
Shifting on the bed, he rolled them so Will was on his back. Leaning up on one arm, he started to rub faster. “You first,” he rasped. “Let me see you first.” He didn't know if it was the words or the actions, but the effect was electric. Will gasped and bucked up against him, thrusting into his palm once, twice, and Liam felt his shaft jerk against his hand as he climaxed. The thin cloth that separated him from hard flesh was quickly drenched, and he could only watch in awe as Will's beautiful features contorted with a pleasure so intense that it looked almost like pain.  
  
He only had a few moments to drink it in, however, before Will's hand tightened around his sex and he worked him with short, hard strokes that threatened his very sanity. “Now you,” he ordered. His voice was still shaky from his orgasm, but the note of command in it was unmistakable, and it shot right to Liam's groin. He barely managed to cover Will's lips with his before he was lost, and he groaned into his mouth as sharp pulses of pure bliss washed over him, so much more intense than he'd ever dreamt it could be that he thought he might very well sell his soul to do this again.  
  
And that, of course, was the exact reason he never could. Liam turned his face away so Will wouldn't see the pain in his eyes before he pulled his hand back from where it still cradled Will's groin and ordered, “You have to leave now.”  
  
“But I -”  
  
“ _Now,_  Will!” He knew he was being overly harsh, but if he didn't get him out of his room immediately, he didn't think he'd be able to resist the temptation to keep him, hold him close and fall asleep with him like the lovers they could never be.  
  
Will didn't reply, just slowly withdrew his hand and got up from the bed, moving with the slow, deliberate motions of an old man. When he glanced over at him, Liam saw him fasten his pants and turn towards the door, his head down. He reached for the door, but stopped when Liam said, “Will? This can't ever happen again. If you come back -”  
  
If possible, his shoulders slumped even further. “I know,” he whispered. “And I won't.” Pulling the door open, he checked to make sure the hallway was empty, then slipped out. The quiet click of the door closing behind him rang in Liam's ears like the clang of bars until, like a prisoner, he was alone in his cell with only his regrets to keep him company.


	12. Chapter 12

Will kept his word and didn't approach him again. He served at Mass beside him, helped him in the garden when Father Tom asked, but never let on through either word or deed that he felt anything more than fraternal affection for him. To all outward appearances, he was a quiet, contented young man who would soon be dedicating himself to the church when he took his final vows next summer. For one priest, he was the living embodiment of sin and a constant scourge.  
  
The encounter stayed with him, lingered like the ghost of a caress that he could still feel even weeks after it was over. Anytime he closed his eyes he saw Will's face at the moment of climax, transfigured with pleasure, or feel his lips against his, so real that he could almost taste them. His dreams were filled with moans and soft pleas, and the memory of a hand wrapped around him, holding him secure and safe as he pumped out what had felt like gallons of fluid, and through it all, the blue eyes that had never left his face.  
  
Desire had become a constant companion, and it took very little to set it alight. A word or accidental brush from Will could send need raging through him like a forest fire, hardening him to the point of pain. He did his best to deal with him as professionally as possible, excusing himself for some other task when his body's demands grew too difficult to ignore. The temptation to repeat his previous sins was almost overwhelming, and Liam faltered in his resolve more often than he wanted to admit, his hand stealing down to grip his erection and work himself slowly in the dark until he achieved relief. It was only temporary, but those brief respites gave him enough peace to keep him from going mad, as he thought he might have otherwise.  
  
There was only one cure he could think of, one remedy that might set everything right again, but he hesitated to take it, whether from fear or something else he couldn't say. Perhaps it was knowing that he would have to acknowledge his desire, give voice to it and so give it power, if only for his own ears, or perhaps it was the hope that some miracle might take it all away and leave him once more calm and accepting of whatever God's will might be, like he used to be. Assuming God hadn't abandoned him to his sins and depravities the way he deserved, that was.  
  
Eventually, however, Liam had to admit that he could not continue in such a manner. Desire was pressing in on him, suffocating him with the weight of his need. He wanted Will, wanted him so badly that his fingers ached for him, but neither of them were free, no matter how either of them might feel. When he entered the church and made his vows, he gave himself over to God, and that had meant renouncing any others. He'd been tempted and fallen, and now it was time to set his feet back on the path of righteousness and return to the arms of the Lord. Even if that meant leaving Will and everyone else he knew and loved so well at St Cecilia's.  
  
Father Tom was quite upset with his request for a transfer, and Liam had been hard-pressed not to simply throw himself at his mentor's feet, confess his failings, and seek absolution. Only the knowledge that his transgressions would mean losing his collar kept him silent, so he allowed him to think that it was a desire to rise in the hierarchy that drove him to leave rather than the crippling guilt that wouldn't allow him to stay. It had been with some trepidation that Father Tom agreed to put the request in, and Liam left the choice of a new diocese and parish to him. He didn't care where he went, so long as he got away from Will and the almost unbearable need to touch him.  
  
After he left the priest's office, he headed for the sanctuary, seeking the comfort of quiet and the beauty of stained glass like a wounded animal seeking a safe place. Once inside, he locked the doors behind him and slowly approached the front of the church. The painted eyes of the wooden Christ above the altar gazed down at him, pain-filled and patient, as though He understood Liam's struggles, although he knew that was impossible. Christ had been without sin, without even the desire to sin, so how could He have compassion on him? The suffering figure above him had borne the sins of the world, shed His blood for all of them, but there was a limit to His love, wasn't there?  
  
Liam fell to his knees before the altar and began to pray, forcing the words out. “De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine: Domine, exaudi vocem meam: Fiant aures tuae intendentes, in vocem deprecationis meae. Si iniquitates observaveris, Domine: Domine, quis sustinebit? Quia apud te propitiatio est: et propter legem tuam sustinui te, Domine. Sustinuit anima mea in verbo eius: speravit anima mea in Domino. A custodia matutina usque ad noctem: speret Israel in Domino. Quia apud Dominum misericordia: et copiosa apud eum redemptio. Et ipse redimet Israel, ex omnibus iniquitatibus eius. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”   
  
By the time he finished, his voice was hoarse, choked with the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Burying his face in his hands, Liam let his grief wash over him and he reached blindly out, gripping the edge of the altar, offering the pain up to God the way he'd been taught in seminary. He wondered if He was even listening, because he didn't think he'd ever felt more alone in his life.


	13. Chapter 13

The letter had arrived last week; his transfer had come through, and he would be leaving tomorrow. Father Tom had agreed to honor his request for privacy, and he had yet to tell anyone else that he was going. Anyone else being, specifically, Will. He had no idea how to handle that, what to say or even if he should say anything at all. The only thing he really knew for certain was that he had to go - he couldn't stay, especially after what had happened between them. And if Will were to really think about it, Liam was certain that he'd understand and realize that this was the only possible choice, as well.  
  
He only wished that he could convince himself of that. Ever since he'd applied for the transfer, he'd felt like he was somehow betraying Will, abandoning him in the basest of ways, and his guilt had grown steadily until it was all he could do not to confess everything and beg Will to forgive him. He'd done his best to stay away from Will, counting the days until he could rely on distance to separate them instead of his own weak determination. Now there was only one more night to get through before he would be leaving, going to another parish, never to see Will again.  
  
Never see Will again. The thought made his stomach tighten when he paused to consider it. Never listen to the way his voice rose and fell in prayer, never hear him laugh, never see his eyes brighten when something amused him, never talk to him or touch him again... Will would enter the priesthood next year and Liam would miss his first Mass by himself, wouldn't get to watch him officiate at communion or take his vows or give his first homily. He'd be at another church, tending to another flock, and it would be as though he'd never met Will or even known he existed.  
  
'Know from whence you came. If you know whence you came, there are absolutely no limitations to where you can go.' His first mentor used to say that, reminding all of them to stay rooted in the church and their faith, and Liam tried to cling to those words now. He wanted to believe in them, wanted to use them as some way to remind himself of why he was doing the right thing, and he did know the first part. He came from the church, from the family that had raised him and the nuns that had educated him and the priests that had welcomed him in as one of them. So yes, he knew from whence he came. But the second part... there were limitations to where he could go, especially where he wanted to go. And no amount of self-reflection or meditation was helping him change where that was.  
  
When he found himself standing in front of Will's door, he didn't stop to think before he reached out to take hold of the handle and eased it open. He was asleep, sprawled out as much as the low, narrow bed would allow, one arm thrown above his head in a pose that could only be called abandoned. The sheet that had covered him had slipped down to his waist, exposing a muscular chest and abdomen covered by creamy skin. He wished for a paintbrush so he could capture the sight of him like this, keep him forever young and beautiful and his. Liam's mouth went dry as he realized he wanted nothing more in that moment than to just lick him all over, but all he could do was stare, caught by the combination of sensual glory and sweet innocence that was laid out in front of him.  
  
A low, hungry sound escaped his lips, the strangled noise breaking free of its own accord. Will's eyelashes fluttered, then slowly slid open, and Liam was caught by the sight of his eyes, still drowsy and unfocused, so blue that he could have gladly given up the sun for them, because the summer sky that he'd loved so much as a boy would be caught in his boy's eyes. He was still trying to figure out why he'd even think about such things when Will blinked and rose up onto one elbow.   
  
“Liam?” The single name sounded strange after hearing himself addressed only by the honorific for years, but when Will said it in that gravelly, sleep-roughened voice, it felt so right that he wanted to beg him to say it over and over again. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Shhh,” he hushed him, walking over to the bed. “Everything's fine. I just wanted...” But he couldn't give voice to the words, not when he didn't even really know why he was here.  
  
Will smiled and sat up, raking a hand through his hair. “I dreamed about you coming here,” he said, cheeks flushing a charming pink with the admission. “And now you're here and I -” He shook his head, then asked suddenly, “Kiss me, Liam? Need to know it's not another dream.”  
  
He didn't bother pointing out that a kiss wouldn't prove anything, since dreams could just as easily be filled with kisses as reality. Indeed, they were more likely in a dream, but any thought of practicality fled when he was given the chance to kiss Will again. Licking his lips, Liam leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over Will's in an imitation of the light caress that had turned his world upside down in the sanctuary.   
  
It was only allowed for a few seconds before Will pulled away. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.  
  
“I'm sure,” he assured him. “I want... I want you, Will. Just for tonight, but -”  
  
A finger shushed him, followed swiftly by a kiss. “I know. Just tonight.”  
  
With that agreed to, he hesitated, suddenly unsure of what came next. He had only a vague idea of how this was supposed to work, and while he knew how it would end, he didn't know how to start. “How, um, how would you like to do this?” he blurted, wincing inwardly at the clumsy question.  
  
“I want - can I see you?” he asked, turning an imploring look up at him. “All of you?”  
  
Liam nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He started unbuttoning his shirt, swallowing hard as he felt his skin heat with the way Will's eyes followed his movements. Soon he was stripped to the waist, and he started working on his pants, struggling to undo the button with suddenly clumsy fingers. He glanced down at Will when he finally wrenched them open, his mouth going dry at the slow movement he could see beneath the sheet. Was he really-?  
  
A soft moan confirmed that he was, indeed, stroking himself, and Liam hurried to shove both pants and boxers shorts down. Fully naked, he stepped out of the crumpled cloth and leaned down to the other man, planting one hand on the mattress and reaching down to cover the hard bulge of Will's sex, squeezing him gently through the cloth. “Let me do that,” he whispered, waiting until he felt Will's hand fall away before he began to rub him gently. He could feel a damp spot forming, and he ran his thumb in a slow circle over it, taking special pleasure in the way Will shivered in response.  
  
He would have been quite content to continue with his explorations for the rest of the night, but Will pushed him away after only a few minutes. “Stop,” he gasped. “Need you to... stop, Liam!”   
  
Another push and he straightened, glaring down at Will, clearly displeased with the way he'd been forced to back away. “Don't want to stop,” he protested.  
  
Will sat up and slid over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You can touch me later,” he promised. “But I want to look at you.” He tilted his head back, smiling up at the flustered man above him. “You pounced me so quickly that I didn't get to see you.”  
  
He might have asked exactly what Will expected to see, but as a heated gaze began to slide down from his face to his chest, he figured it out. Forcing himself to hold still for the inspection, Liam was surprised to find that simply being watched was proving almost insanely erotic. Beneath those dark blue eyes, he grew even harder, and when they reached his shaft and lingered, he felt a pulse rush through him that brought several drops sliding out of the tip, snaking down his length.  
  
“Beautiful,” Will whispered hoarsely, tracing the path of the drops with his finger. He curled his hands around Liam's hips and tugged him a little closer to the bed. Before Liam could ask what he was doing, he dipped his head down towards him, and then his mouth wrapped around him!  
  
“Ohhhhh God,” Liam moaned, the words tearing free before he could stop them. Heat surrounded his sex, warm and wet, and he knew he should stop him, but he couldn't help himself. Something slick and silky slid over the tip, something he belatedly realized was his tongue. Will's tongue! Licking him - right there! It was wrong in every sense of the word. It would damn them both to the deepest reaches of hell. And when Will pulled back a little and then bobbed forward, taking even more of him in his mouth, Liam knew there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to stop him.  
  
Clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sounds he couldn't prevent himself from making, he slid the other into Will's hair, feeling the soft strands twine around his fingers as his head moved. Back, then forward, the slight scrape of teeth over his sensitive skin adding an edge of pain to the pleasure that seemed to make it better than he'd ever dreamt it could be. One of the hands gripping his hip slid down to cradle his sac, then moved up to curl around the base of his shaft, working him in time to the mouth that pushed him closer and closer to insanity. Too soon, he felt his sac drawing tight, felt the tingles at the base of his spine that warned of his incipient orgasm, and he yanked his hand away. “Will,” he grated. “I'm - I'm gonna - I can't -”  
  
As if in answer, Will pulled back until only the tip of his sex remained in his mouth, then sucked hard. There was no stopping his climax, and Liam barely managed to get his hand up in time to mute his groan as it broke over him, rolling him under like some massive wave from the shore. This was better than before, better than Will's hand, either over or under his clothes, and he wanted to scream as he felt the pulses rip through him, emptying himself into Will's mouth.  
  
He became hazily aware of the slick caress of a tongue licking him clean at some point, and he looked down to see Will nuzzling him. “Will,” he whispered, stroking the hand in his hair.  
  
Dark blue eyes turned upwards to him, and he caught his breath at the desperate need in their depths. “Please,” he begged. “I need - touch me now, Liam, please!”  
  
There was no way he could deny that plea. He pushed him backward onto the bed, placing one knee between his legs, leaning forward to balance on one hand while the other immediately wrapped around his shaft. He didn't bother teasing him, didn't rub like he had before, but fisted him and started to stroke. No hesitancy now, nothing but the need to make Will feel as good as he'd made him feel.  
  
When the first broken moan fell from Will's lips, Liam kissed him, using his mouth to keep him quiet. His tongue slipped inside, and he tasted the heavy salt and musk that he knew must be his own seed. Tasting something so intimate was enough to make him moan as well, and he worked Will faster, his hand moving over him in long slides, soon slippery with the liquid evidence of his desire.  
  
“Wait,” Will protested. “I'm - it's too close!”  
  
He ignored the attempt to slow him down and tightened his grip. Will's head thrashed on his pillow, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him as he fought for control. But it was a losing fight, as Liam well knew. “Don't stop, Will,” he whispered, suddenly anxious to watch him come unravelled. He hadn't been able to appreciate this before, too close to his own edge to really take it in, and it was fascinating.  
  
Hips thrust up, shoving harder into his grasp, and he squeezed tightly, smiling when Will wrenched away from his mouth, sucking air in in huge gulps. Another tight slide and there was no stopping him. “Oh, oh, oh, oh,” he chanted, staring up at Liam with wide eyes, fixed on him as his sex throbbed and jerked in his fist, covering his fingers with a sticky residue.  
  
Liam wiped his hand off on the sheet, silently promising himself that he'd offer to do laundry very soon, maybe even tomorrow, forgetting that he wouldn't be there to carry that promise out. Will reached up to tug on his shoulders, and he let himself be pulled down to lie on top of him. Both of them were still breathing hard, trying to recover their equilibriums, and for several minutes, neither said anything.  
  
Finally, Liam made a move to pull away. “We shouldn't lie together like this,” he protested, although he was only too aware of how feeble it sounded, particularly after what they'd just done.  
  
Will ran a hand down his back, petting and soothing him. “John lay on Jesus' breast at the Last Supper,” he reminded him. It wasn't much of a justification, but it allowed him to pacify the conscience that attempted to drive them apart and indulge the need to feel Will against him a little longer.  
  
They kissed, slow and soft, hands drifting aimlessly over arms and backs, reassuring each other and themselves that it was all real, both the sensual excitement of earlier and the lazy contentment of the moment. Liam had lost all track of time, lost in the caresses and gentle kisses that passed between them. He didn't care about anything else but Will - he was drowning in the other man, losing himself in the sight and taste and touch and scent of Will, and when he felt his shaft twitch against him, he could no more have stopped himself from reaching down to touch than he could have risen from the bed and walked away.  
  
Slipping a hand between them, he covered Will's sex, smiling when he felt it twitch again. He kissed him deeper, his tongue delving inside, and groaned when he felt Will's shaft begin to lengthen and fill, thickening under his hand until it was once more straining against his touch. It was awe-inspiring, the way his body changed to give physical proof of his desire, and Liam felt both humbled and exalted that he could produce such an effect with nothing more than a kiss.  
  
He was barely aware that he had hardened as well, too lost in the wonder of his lover's body to really notice until a shift of their hips brought their erections brushing against each other. Pleasure shot up his spine in a shock and he stiffened, suddenly conscious of how easy it would be to take those final steps into absolute desecration. A movement here, a thrust there, and all would be lost.  
  
Will felt him go rigid in his arms, and he pulled him down for a kiss. “It's okay,” he whispered. “We can just lay like this.” Soft lips brushed over his, teasing him until he opened for them, and they finally settled completely over his. Lulled by the sweet kisses, he barely noticed when Will began to rock against him, hips barely moving, and he began to follow suit, rubbing against him softly in counterpoint, too drugged by the pleasure that was stealthily stealing up on him to think about either his actions or consequences.  
  
He could feel Will against him, his shaft rubbing along his own, and he thought he might go mad with desire. He needed to move, had to do something other than simply kiss and caress him, and he wasn't sure how long he could hold it back. Tearing his mouth away from Will's with a gasp, Liam moaned as he thrust against him, hard flesh sliding against hard flesh, liquid drops of desire easing the way. Innocent he might have been, virgin he might still be, but he knew this, knew the rhythm of lust and the need that screamed throughout to him to keep going.  
  
It was Will who wrapped his arms around his neck, Will who shifted underneath him, legs sliding open to bring him flush against his erection, and Will who breathed, “Please, Liam. Let me feel it... just once?”  
  
Groaning in surrender, he let himself be drawn down for a heated kiss. Tongues twined, gliding sleekly over each other, and Liam was lost. He nudged Will's legs further open with his thighs, causing him to wriggle against him until they were closely fit against each other, and then he started to move, pushing forward and retreating, full thrusts that mimicked the one thing he knew they couldn't have. Will's legs wrapped around his calves, pulling him close as he thrust up against him, both of them seeking more friction, nature and instinct taking over in a demanding dance, hesitancy giving way to a hard rhythm that stole the breath and sanity away from both of them.  
  
They were hurtling towards an inevitable conclusion, bodies straining against each other, racing for the finish they could both sense that drew ever closer. Any thoughts of damnation, or right and wrong, or anything beyond the need for more was extinguished, smother beneath the fire that raged through them, threatening to consume every last ounce of them. Liam decided he didn't care - it could have him, could eat him alive, so long as he could die with Will in his arms, feeling his body begin to shake as he got close, drinking in his muted moans and giving up his own in return.  
  
Once again, he felt his sac draw tight before he was ready, his body demanding an end to it while he was still luxuriating in the sensations. He tried to slow down, to pull back and prolong the moment, but the pleasure crested, sharp and sweet, and he slammed his mouth down on Will's as he groaned out his completion. Semen shot between them in hot bursts of liquid silk, coating Will's sex and stomach, and he felt him jerk and cry out against his mouth, his body arching up as he spent as well.  
  
When he felt Will go limp beneath him, Liam kissed his once more, then pulled back and looked down at him, smiling at the drowsy satisfaction that suffused his face. He started to get up, only to feel a hand on his arm. “Wait... please.”  
  
“Shhh,” he soothed him. “I'm just going to clean you up.” Will released him and he walked over the sink, oddly unself-conscious in his nudity as he dampened a washcloth and returned to the bed. He cleaned first Will and then himself, erasing the evidence of their passion with slow sweeps of the cloth.  
  
Once he was done, he knew he should leave, but one look at the warmth in the blue eyes, and he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Slipping back into the bed, he gathered Will - his lover, now - in his arms and kissed the top of his head. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, feeling his chest tighten as the other man snuggled closer to him with a sated murmur. He couldn't join him, not if they wanted to avoid detection, but he could allow himself to savor just a few more stolen moments before he had to leave, before he had to face his sins and begin his penance. Tonight had been for Will; tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with what he'd done.


	14. Chapter 14

_Dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight that had slipped through the crack in the curtains. He watched them, fascinated with the way they moved, absorbed in the swirl of the tiny specks that seemed to glow golden in the afternoon sun. They called to him, tempted him to reach out and try to catch them, just as he used to do when he was a boy, and his fingers fairly twitched with the need to touch, but he couldn't make them move, a sudden fear rushing through him at the thought of sunlight on his skin._  
  
 _Will gritted his teeth, wondering why on earth he was so strangely afraid of something as harmless as sunlight. He'd never hesitated to go outside, always loved the heat of the sun beating down on him, warming his skin even as it lightened his hair. The best summers of his life were easily those he'd spent at his parents' summer home in the Hamptons, racing along the beach, playing in the surf, or just lazing in a hammock in the yard, daydreaming about everything and nothing. But now the thought of reaching out into the beam of golden light filled him with a bone-deep terror unlike anything he'd ever known._  
  
 _A low noise pulled his attention away from the sunbeam. He started down the hallway, slipping along the long passage until he came to a large door. The noise sounded again, a groan that could have been pain or pleasure, but he couldn't seem to move, his hands frozen at his sides, petrified with the same fear that the sunbeam had instilled in him. He wanted to turn and walk - or better still, run - away, wanted to forget that he'd even seen it, but he heard it again and he couldn't help himself. Swallowing hard, he reached out and pushed the door open, the heavy wood creaking as it swung open._  
  
 _Inside, a huge bed dominated the room, and sprawled out on it, like a lion sated and sleepy from the kill, lay a man. He was tall and broad, large enough not to be overpowered by the size of the bed, and Will was fairly sure he was naked beneath the crisp white sheet that covered him to his waist. Long dark hair tumbled down onto the pillow and over his shoulders, but it was his skin that made his fingers itch to reach out, tawny and golden against the linens. His face was turned away from him so he couldn't see his features, and while he knew it was insane to think so, something about him seemed familiar, like a memory from a long ago dream._  
  
 _As though drawn by a magnet, he began to move around the bed, intent on getting a better look, when a voice stopped him in his tracks. “William.” He whirled around to see a tall, slender woman dressed in white watching him from another doorway. She smiled and shook her head, dark curls bouncing around her, and she started towards him, crooning to him like a mother to a child. “My poor, sweet William, so lost and alone. You've forgotten it all, left wandering in the dark like a lamb with no home.”_  
  
 _Will took a step back, instinctively retreating from the honeyed warmth that he somehow knew was false. “Do I know you?”_    
  
 _She didn't answer him immediately, but took his arm and turned him around to face the man on the bed. “Pater Noster,” she whispered, twining about him like a snake, arms holding him to her with a strength he wouldn't have guessed she possessed. “Except that our Father wasn't ever in Heaven, was he, William? He came from somewhere else, and plucked us out of the sunlight to join him in the darkness, dancing like the stars for all time.”_  
  
 _“I - I don't understand,” he stammered._  
  
 _She nuzzled under his ear and he shivered. “Shhh, mustn't talk out of turn or Daddy will be angry.” With a swiftness that didn't seem human, she slithered around, pressing him back against the wall, her body up against his. Her fingers walked up his chest to cover his lips, keeping him silent. “Naughty boy. Think I don't know your secrets, but I do. You got lost, crawled into the fire and covered yourself up with dirt, smoke and ashes, then tried to pretend you weren't glad when Daddy pulled you back out again, but I know.”_  
  
 _“Leave him alone, Dru.” The deep voice made her stiffen and hiss in annoyance, but she backed away, leaving Will face to face with -_  
  
 _“Liam?” For a few precious seconds, he thought it was Liam, that he'd somehow come back to him. But it wasn't Liam, not exactly. He looked enough like him to be his twin, but he was... different. Older, somehow, and infinitely sadder. There was an ocean of sorrow in his dark eyes, and he held himself like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. It made Will want to wrap him up in his arms, banish his demons, and offer him some of the peace that Liam always seemed to have._  
  
 _The man stood still, letting him look his fill, as though he knew there were differences to be cataloged. Finally, he said quietly, “Go home, Will.”_  
  
 _“Who are you?” It suddenly seemed vitally important that he find out his name, if nothing else._  
  
 _He shook his head. “Nobody important.” Will frowned, almost certain that was a lie. The man's hands closed on his shoulders, the sudden contact a shock because he hadn't even seen him move. “Look at me,” he commanded. His eyes were black, burning with an intensity that seared him right down to his soul. “You have to forget me,” he growled. “Do you hear me? Go home, and forget this ever happened.”_  
  
 _“I can't,” he gasped, unable to tear his gaze from the dark eyes. “You're too important. I need to know!”_  
  
 _The hands around his shoulders vanished, and he was left alone, but only for a second. “He won't ever tell you,” another voice chimed in. The man in the bed sat up, although he kept his head bowed, his long hair still hiding his features._  
  
 _“Why won't he?” Will cocked his head to the side and took a step forward, curious about the secret the man seemed to be hiding._  
  
 _“He's afraid. You've messed everything up, you see. He wasn't ever supposed to see you again, but there you are, and he can't stay away from you.” He lifted his head and he saw brown eyes flash turn to molten gold. “Just like me.”_  
  
 _Chains shot out from the wall, cold steel clamping around his wrists, and everything around him vanished in the blink of an eye. Cold darkness surrounded him, the chill seeping right into the very center of his being until he thought he might never get warm again. He'd never been this cold in his life, as though he were without breath or blood to heat his body. This must be what people meant by the chill of the grave, and why they feared death so much._  
  
 _Footsteps sounded near him and he turned to see a small blonde woman walking towards him, a gleaming sword in one hand, the metal shining even in the darkness around him. Will stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away from her. She was beautiful, but it wasn't her beauty that took his breath away and threatened to send him to his knees before her, No, it was the strength and the love he could see in her eyes that threatened to undo him. This was a woman to worship, someone who could be his equal, a beacon in the dark to bring him up into the light._  
  
 _"What's going on?" he asked, pulling against the chains that held tight. "Please... just tell me I'm not going crazy."_  
  
 _She smiled, and it warmed him clear through. “You're not going crazy. If you want to know the truth, you just have to look inside and it'll be there. I believe in you Spike,” she told him, leaning forward to kiss him. Her lips brushed over his, and she smiled warmly at him as she pulled back. Reaching for his hand, the chains fell away as she entwined their fingers. Will looked at their joined hands and gasped when they burst into fire, flames licking away at their flesh. He turned back to the woman to see tears swimming in her eyes as she said softly, "I love you."_  
  
 _Pain exploded in his chest, a burning, wrenching pain that went on and on. He screamed as the fire rose up around him, consuming him from the inside out._  
  
He bolted upright in the bed, gasping for breath and clutching his chest, his heart beating like a jackhammer beneath his hand. Looking down at himself, he breathed, “Bloody hell.”


	15. Chapter 15

Sometimes it was hard to believe that it had been six months since he'd changed parishes and left everything worth living for behind. It felt more like six years, or perhaps six centuries. The days dragged on interminably now, and the nights... the nights weren't even worth thinking about. He'd barely slept that first week, too guilt-racked and pain-filled over first his broken vows and then his broken heart that kept him tossing and turning night after night. Eventually exhaustion had won out, and he started sleeping again. He would've been grateful for that, if it hadn't been for the dreams.  
  
Will haunted him like a ghost. Every time he closed his eyes he saw him - sleeping sweetly in his arms, crying out in rapture as he climaxed, ducking his head and giving him that shy little smile, lying sprawled out on his bed like an invitation to sin... The images were as numerous as the nights, and when he ran out of memories, his imagination was happy to supply more. But there were other images, too, ones that made his blood run cold just to think of them- Will staring despondently at his empty room before walking away, Will kissing someone else, touching someone else, and making love to someone else. Those always seemed to lead to nightmares of Will screaming in pain, writhing in chains, flinching under the lash of a whip, then bleeding and begging for him to stop.  
  
The dreams had gotten progressively worse, and their toll on Liam was visible. His fit, broad-shouldered figure had slowly degenerated into a slumped wreckage of a man. He rarely ate more than one meal a day, and thankfully, the bishop in charge of St Agnes was too busy to really pay attention to his charges the way Father Tom had. If he'd still been at St Cecilia's, he had little doubt that his mentor would've called him into his office and wrested the truth out of him by now, and he couldn't deny that part of him wanted that, wanted the relief that confession could bring, even if it meant getting defrocked because of it. But nothing was said, so he'd sunk steadily deeper and deeper into a sinkhole of depression and self-destruction.  
  
He wasn't sure how he'd ended up drinking in an effort to numb the pain and forget, but he knew it had started a little over two months ago. There had been an extra bottle of wine after Mass one Sunday when he was clearing the sanctuary, and since it was already open, he was supposed to throw it out, 'to keep from accidentally leading any who might find it into temptation', according to the bishop. But as he'd stared down at the rich ruby liquid, he'd found himself yearning for whatever respite it might be able to provide, and instead of pouring it down the drain, he'd smuggled it back to his room, hidden safely beneath his cassock.  
  
That night, he'd slept deeply and dreamlessly for the first time since he'd left Will alone in his bed. When he woke up in the morning, not even the pounding headache or churning stomach had been able to make him regret taking the wine. The stolen bottle lasted him for another three nights before it was gone, and once it was, the dreams returned with a vengeance. Liam spent even more time in prayer, supplicated himself before God and begged Him for relief, and for once, his prayers were answered: one of the street urchins at the church's homeless shelter was discovered with alcohol two days later, and the contraband was turned over to him to dispose of.  
  
After that, it was simple to replenish his supply - the children at the homeless shelter were drunk or high more often than not, and once he started volunteering for more shifts, it was only natural that he found more liquor on them. Vodka had recently replaced wine as his preference, as he needed much less of it to banish his demons and find the ease he so desperately needed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was placing his soul in even further jeopardy with first the theft and then the betrayal of the bishop's trust, not to mention the drinking itself, and he regretted the loss of both his dreams of acceptance and the character he'd always valued in himself, but when weighed against the relentless nightmares and despondence that came with missing Will, he couldn't bring himself to regret it enough to confess and stop.  
  
Unfortunately, working in the homeless shelter didn't excuse him from confession duty. He still hated it every bit as much as he always had, if not more, because there would never again be a low voice confessing a forbidden desire for him or a soft intonation of Latin that reminded him of why he loved the church. It was just an endless parade of sinners now, all of them as damned as he was himself. There was no forgiveness anymore, not for any of them, but he doled out the prayers and instructions for penance and absolved them all the same; maybe they could gain a little peace before they were cast into hell. Liam had had his peace, and walked away from it six months ago.  
  
The divider slid open, sending the scent of roses drifting towards him from the other side of the confessional. A woman, then, probably hear to tell him she'd done something truly awful, like think naughty thoughts about the UPS man. He waited until she was settled, and when she didn't recite the Sign of the Cross, he raised his hand and did it for her. “In nomini Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”  
  
She didn't reply, probably too overcome with guilt to start without being prompted. “Tell me of your sins, my child,” he muttered.  
  
A soft giggle answered him, the sound sending a chill straight through him. “Oh, you'd like to know all my sins, wouldn't you?” a woman's voice asked. “You want to hear about all the deliciously horrible things I've done, don't you?”  
  
What was he supposed to say in response? He thought longingly of the bottle hidden in his nightstand as he replied, “I can't absolve you of sins that you don't confess.”  
  
“Silly Daddy,” she chided him. “Water alone won't wash them away. No, it takes blood for that, spilling over my fingers like it used to. Lovely, delicious fountains for me to frolic naked in under the starlight, even if my prince won't come to play and make me scream anymore.”  
  
He frowned, wondering what he was supposed to say to someone so obviously unrepentant. Why, it almost sounded like she was glorying in her misdeeds! She seemed not to need his input, because she laughed and reached out to touch the grill. “Poor Daddy, so lost, let the fairies lead you astray with their talk of golden sparkles, living warmth, and beat of the drums. But I've found you now, and I'll make it all right.”   
  
He might have asked her what she meant by all that, but she rose and slipped out of the confessional, closing the door quietly behind her. After she'd left, he shook his head, still trying to figure out what had just happened. Was the woman insane, that she said such things? He wondered if he should go after her, find out if she needed help, when the door in front of him swung open.   
  
A woman stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her. The small room was shrouded in near darkness once more before he got a good look at her, so he was left with only the impression of dark curls cascading over her shoulders and large, dark eyes. “Hello, Daddy,” she murmured, and he saw her teeth flash white in the dim light.  
  
“You're supposed to be on the other side if you want to confess.”  
  
She laughed again, the same mad ripple as before. “Oh, but I can't confess like that.” Before he could stop her, she sank to her knees before him, folding her hands before her like a little girl at prayers. Peeking up at him, she said, “You won't mind if I confess like this, will you?”  
  
Actually, he very much minded, but arguing wouldn't get her out of there any faster, so he sighed and made the sign of the cross over her head. “Tell me of your sins.”  
  
“That's not how this game is supposed to go.” She sounded annoyed, like he should remember whatever madwoman's fancy she was lost in, and when he didn't reply, she asked, “Don't you remember, Daddy? I'm not supposed to tell you my sins.”  
  
Liam knew he was close to losing his patience with her, insane or not. “What else would you do in a confessional?” he asked irritably.  
  
Another faint flash of white teeth, and a hand closed on his crotch and squeezed. “Show you,” she purred, her fingers making quick work of his button and zipper. He reached down to stop her, but she ducked down and his hand slid into dark hair as her mouth closed around him. The feel of lips wrapping around his shaft and the wet caress of a tongue immediately took him back to that night with Will, and when she moaned around him the same way Will had, a bolt of lust shot through him, hardening him in a flash, making him dizzy with the sudden need.  
  
“You shouldn't -” he groaned, but there was no real conviction behind the words, and she seemed to know it. Her hand delved into his pants, cupping his sac through his boxers as her mouth slid up and down, driving him in and out in a relentless rhythm. This wasn't the shy fumblings of his first lover, but the practised seduction of one who was well used to the act, but as he drew closer and closer to release, it ceased to matter. Particularly when he had only to close his eyes and imagine Will's mouth, Will's tongue circling the tip with the woman's expertise, Will's hungry blue eyes staring up at him like they had just before he -  
  
A choked groan broke free, the sound overly loud in the confines of the confessional, but he didn't care, too lost in his orgasm to see anything beyond the image that seemed permanently burned into his mind. He spent in the same long, blissful bursts as before, and was accepted and swallowed almost as eagerly. “Will.” The woman never looked up or gave any sign that she heard his harsh whisper, just kept licking him, her tongue daintily sweeping over his softening flesh.  
  
He was still reeling from his climax when she tucked him away and straightened. She smiled at him, laying one hand against his cheek, and he could feel the lace of her glove scratching his skin as she stroked him. “Poor Daddy, so confused,” she murmured. “We'll have our prince again, safe and snug in the bed with both of us. No more nasty glowing Slayer, no more soul eating away at his insides like a little worm. There will be tea and cakes and we'll all dance under the stars - wouldn't you like that?”  
  
When he just stared at her dumbly, she bent to kiss his forehead. “I'll see you again when the stars say it's time,” she told him, then turned and walked away, leaving a thoroughly confused Liam staring dazedly after her.


	16. Chapter 16

“Do you need any help, William?” Father Tom studied the young man in front of him, wishing there was more he could do to ease his obvious pain. But he had refused any counsel ever since Liam left, and Father Tom was almost certain he knew the reason. Despite what his charges might think, he had been young once, too.  
  
Will shook his head and added a pair of jeans to the bag on the bed. “No thank you, Father. I'm fine.” It was only half a lie, he told himself; packing was no trouble at all, even if the clothes were still stiff and new from his earlier shopping expedition. Besides, there was nothing any of the priests could do for him, no help they could offer beyond prayers and the occasional word of advice or support..  
  
His decision to leave the church had been, despite what he would've expected, a simple one, made more so by Liam's departure. He'd found love in his time with the church, but not a priestly kind of love, and he couldn't live a lie. There had been too many lies, starting with his own identity, and he was ready to start looking for the truth. Liam might be able to forget their shared past, might be able to hide in the church while he sought solace and forgiveness for the years of blood and sex in the cold and formless arms of his god, but Will needed more. He wanted flesh and blood, wanted a warm body beside him in his bed at night. He wanted a love that was his and only his, and he wouldn't find that in the service of the parish.  
  
When it came down to it, taking his leave had been surprisingly easy. He'd have expected more argument, perhaps some kind of struggle to free himself from the church, had definitely anticipated there would be lectures about him forsaking his vows so easily, but a letter to the bishop and a few talks with Father Tom had seen the thing done. He wondered if maybe they'd seen something that told them it was pointless to try to hold him there, if they'd somehow known about his feelings for Liam, even if they weren't aware of what had happened between them, or if maybe Father Tom just wanted to get rid of him. God only knew that that was pretty much the story of his life, right?  
  
His life. It was still hard to believe that everything he'd always believed about himself, from his parents to his childhood to his first love, wasn't real. If his dreams were telling him the truth, and they were too vivid to be simply imagination, then his whole life was nothing more than a construction meant to keep him from discovering who he was. Or maybe he should make that what he was. Because he wasn't human in them, although he had been once upon a time. If his dreams were real, if the things he'd started to dredge up from the depths of his mind were actual memories and not just delusional fantasies, then he had to reassess not just his faith or position in the church, but his whole life. He needed to find out who he was, and that was something he couldn't do here at St Cecelia's.  
  
After his bag was packed, all his personal items and new clothes tucked away, he gathered the one set he'd left out, picked the bag up, and turned towards Father Tom. “I'm ready,” he said quietly.  
  
He nodded. “If you'll come to my office, then.”  
  
Will followed him in silence, well aware of the funereal atmosphere that seemed to descend as they walked. He'd said his good-byes last night after supper, right before he entered the necessary seclusion that was the start of the final step of his leaving. The time was supposed to be used to meditate and pray, to make sure that he was doing the right thing, but there had been no question in his mind, and he'd ended up trying to remember instead. Remember Buffy, or Dawn, or Angel, or anything beyond the shadowy forms and names that seemed to dance just at the edges of his recollection, but he'd only come up with golden hair, girlish laughter, and a steady, solid strength that made him feel safe.  
  
Once they were inside Father Tom's office, the older priest closed the door and gestured towards one of the chairs. “Please, have a seat.” He waited for Will to sit down before he went to sit, not in the desk opposite, but beside him. “I know you've made your decision, and I wish you well in the life waiting for you,” he began. “I'm not going to attempt to talk you into staying, especially with your plans already made, but I wanted to talk to you before we go on. I hope you know that I'm your friend, and I'll listen to anything you might need or want to tell me.”  
  
He looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, just as they had been when he'd made his first confession to Father Tom, and decided to try trusting him, if only a little bit. “There's... I've been having thoughts... about - about men.”  
  
“You desire to lie with a man, is that it?” He nodded and heard Father Tom draw in a sharp breath. “I see. Does this have to do with any specific man?”  
  
Will shook his head. “Just that I can't stop thinking about it, and I know I can't be a good priest if I want something besides God.” He was lying, and he was pretty sure the priest knew he was lying, but he couldn't throw Liam to the wolves because of his defection, not when Liam was happy in his new parish, helping the homeless and gaining the bishop's notice.  
  
“I'm glad to see you understand what would be required of you,” Father Tom said slowly, and for a second, Will had a sickening suspicion that he was about to ask something else. But he changed his mind and got to his feet. “Shall we begin, then?”  
  
Under Father Tom's watchful eye, Will stripped out of his clothing. With each piece that fell away, he recited his renunciation, offering up a vow for each garment. Technically, he didn't have to do that, seeing as he'd never taken his final vows, but he'd asked to follow the ritual, and the formal words and gestures eased some of the anxiety that had been building since his decision. Once he was completely naked, he knelt and bowed his head, then asked, “Bless me, Father, and send me out to do good in the world.”  
  
Hands descended on his head almost immediately. “In the name of He who made us both, loves us, and cares for us, I bless you. May your days upon the earth be long, your works be fruitful, and your heart be light. Go forth with the good will and wishes of your brothers in the Lord. In nomini Patri, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”  
  
“Amen,” Will echoed. He rose and went to wash in the basin that had been set out for him, then dressed in his new clothes. They felt strange, the denim hard and stiff against his legs, while the T-shirt seemed scratching despite the whisper of memory that said it should be soft and molding. Maybe later, once they'd been washed a few thousand times. He felt lighter than normal, as though something was missing, something very important and necessary, but it was something he'd have to figure out for himself, because it was time to go. Picking up his bag, he looked over at Father Tom one last time. “Thank you,” he said softly, the smile he received in return warming his heart. The sense of peace lingered, going with him as he turned around and walked out to the taxi that waited outside to take him to the airport.


	17. Chapter 17

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard British Airways flight 682 with service to London's Heathrow Airport.” Will closed his eyes as the flight attendant continued, droning on and on about the rules for the flight, how long it would take, and the endless safety procedures that he really didn't care to think about. Flying made him nervous, like they were somehow tempting fate, and hearing the details of what they were supposed to do in case of 'water landings' and such just made it worse.  
  
Once they were in the air, he leaned his head back against the seat with a sigh. Just a matter of hours, really, and he'd be in London. He wondered if it counted as his first trip, since he'd never been before as Will, or as a return to his native soil, seeing as Spike had been born there. Assuming Spike was real, that was. The ticket that had been booked and then wired over as soon as he'd called London seemed to suggest that he had been.  _Of course,_  that little wisp of memory in the back of his mind whispered,  _they could just want you there to help them find Angel. He's the champion, the one they really want, not you._  
  
Angel. Had he been real, too? Logic told him that if Spike wasn't just some crazy fancy, then neither was Angel, that either they'd both existed, or neither of them had. Anything else seemed incomprehensible, like a universe skewed and gone awry, and he couldn't seem to figure out why that was. Was it simply that he wanted to believe he wasn't alone in his insanity, or was it something more, some part of him that felt incomplete without the knowledge that Angel was out there somewhere? But there was no more Angel - there was only Liam, and he didn't think he remembered. He wouldn't have left if he had, or at least that was what Will told himself, the faint hope that he clung to to keep himself from going mad with grief and loneliness.  
  
He hadn't been surprised to find his bed empty in the morning when he woke - they weren't exactly in a position that would allow for sleepovers and morning cuddles, after all. It wasn't until he went to breakfast that he'd learned about Liam's departure. Once again, he'd been left to deal with the cold light of the morning after on his own. Apparently, it made no difference whether he was human or vampire, Will or Spike; either way, the story ended the same way, with his lover leaving him to face the rest of his life alone.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of British Airways, I'd like to welcome you to London's Heathrow Airport, where the local time is 10:40 a.m. Please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the seatbelt sign has been turned off. We remind you to use caution when opening the overhead compartments, as items may have shifted during flight. We hope you enjoy your stay here, and would once again like to thank you again for choosing British Airways.” The flight attendant's announcement set off a wave of restlessness, passengers craning their necks to see out the windows, checking the plane's progress as it approached the gate that would mean the end of the long flight.   
  
Will stayed in his seat as the people around him began to gather their belongings and head for the door, eager to get to hotels or start vacations or see loved ones after the trip. The tired eagerness he could see on so many faces only served to make him feel older and more alone than he had before he got on the plane, and he wondered for the thousandth time if this really had been the right thing to do. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to impose like this, but he hadn't known anywhere else to go, and Father Tom had refused to allow him to leave until he'd had a destination. So he'd chosen one, and now he had to hope it was right.  
  
Not for the first time, he wished his mother was still alive. She'd always known just what to say, how to make the worst humiliations and worries better, from his small concerns to his father's more pressing ones, and they'd both adored her for it. He wondered how different his life might have been if she hadn't died, if that stupid idiot hadn't decided to drink before he got behind the wheel of a car and ripped the light of his and his father's lives away. Without the immense weight of grief pressing down on him, would Dad have survived the heart attack that took him the next year? Would Will have had the courage to stand up to his professor when he was told he would never be a writer? Would he still have entered the church at his godfather's urging?  
  
But if he hadn't, he wouldn't have met Liam. He'd never have known that the big, dark-haired priest existed, never have realized what it was he truly wanted, what he really needed. So much of his life had been mapped out for him by everyone else around him, and he'd probably have gone along with it to keep them happy, whether that meant the proper wife and children, or maybe a 'nice boy', if he'd been brave enough to actually admit to wanting that. Either way, it would have been someone chosen for him, the two of them guided together into a relationship that his well-meaning parents would have hoped would bring him the same happiness they'd had. No long hours of prayer, no self-deprivation to bring him closer to God's will, no poetic Latin chants that stirred the soul, no real need for religion at all beyond attending services on Sundays. The dreams probably never would've surfaced, the troubling memories of a life that he still wasn't sure was his wouldn't have stirred, and he'd never have realized there were people missing from his life. He'd never have thought about little blondes or slender brunettes or large men who made him feel safe and scared all at the same time.  
  
A discreet cough pulled him out of his musings, and he looked up to see the same flight attendant from earlier smiling at him. “We've landed,” she told him gently. “Do you need help with your bag?”  
  
“Uh, no. I've got it,” he assured her, feeling his cheeks heat at the not-so-subtle nudge to get going. Forcing himself to his feet, he reached up to retrieve his duffel from the overhead compartment, then started the long walk down the aisle and up the boarding ramp.  
  
The airport was teeming with people when he stepped out into it, people saying hello and good-bye and I've missed you, all the things that just naturally seemed to come out in airports and train stations and the like. He glanced quickly around, wondering what he was supposed to do now, when he heard a shaking voice call out, “Spike?”  
  
Turning around, he had just enough time to notice a small blonde staring at him before she sprang into motion. His bag hit the floor with a thud when she threw herself against him, and his arms automatically wrapped around her, catching her and holding her close. It felt familiar, warm and comforting and bittersweet, almost like falling asleep in Liam's arms on that last night, like something he'd been waiting forever for. His throat closed up and he couldn't say anything but, “Buffy.”  
  
“Oh my God, it's you,” she murmured, her breath warm against his neck. “It's really you.” He felt her body begin to shake against his just before scalding tears slid over his skin.  
  
As the Slayer cried in his arms, grief and joy mingling in her muffled sobs, Spike realized that Thomas Wolfe had been right: Home was the place where, when you had to go there, they had to take you in. And he was home now.


	18. Chapter 18

His head was throbbing. Liam glanced down at his watch, grateful to see that it was already six-thirty. Only half an hour more and he could close the church for the night, retire to his room and the bottle of vodka that was currently stashed under his bed. It was only a quarter full, and he hoped that would be enough - lately he'd been needing more and more to shut out the memories of a skilled mouth and keep the dreams of shocked and betrayed blue eyes away. Tomorrow he'd have to volunteer for the shelter, and hope that one of the men had the right kind of contraband on him.  
  
When the door in front of him swung open, he thought at first that Monsignor Moss had decided to close early so they could go over the tithes from last Sunday's Mass, but as soon as he caught sight of the figure in the aisle, he realized his mistake. Getting to his feet, he ordered, “You can't be here.”  
  
The rippling laugh that had haunted his dreams sent a cold shiver up his spine. “Silly Daddy,” she mocked. “I can be anywhere I want to be. And tonight's special, so I had to come see you.”  
  
He swallowed hard, and decided to try pacifying her. Maybe if he listened to her, she would go away and leave him alone. “Why is tonight special?”  
  
She smiled. “It's your birthday, of course.” Liam frowned, wondering why she'd say that when his birthday was still four months away, but she continued, as though she hadn't noticed. “Or at least, it will be. The stars said yes, you see, so I'm here to start your party.”  
  
The push caught him off-guard, and he sat back down hard on the bench. She stepped into the confessional and pulled the door closed behind her. “Did you miss me, Daddy?” she purred, taking another step that brought her legs brushing against his.  
  
“No.” It wasn't a complete lie, because something about her had been too unsettling to allow him to be anything besides relieved that she hadn't come back.  
  
“But you want me anyways,” she teased him softly. “Don't you?”  
  
There was no denying that. His traitorous body, remembering what had happened the last time she joined him in the confessional, had hardened as soon as the door closed. “That's not the point,” he tried to assert. “This isn't proper. I'm a priest and - ohhhh, God!”  
  
“Yessss,” she hissed. “God doesn't live out there, does He? He likes this, likes the hard and the wet, just like you do, Daddy.” Another squeeze of her fingers made his hips press up into her hand, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thump.  
  
Liam groaned, aware that this was the worst kind of sacrilege. He should push her away, should call out for help and have her ejected from the church, but she slid fully into his lap and the sweet pressure of her weight on his erection made him forget everything else. Besides, God had failed to smite him for his previous sins, so what was one more? When her lips descended onto his, he opened for her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to mate with hers.  
  
Somehow his pants were opened, and she was stroking him, coaxing him to a painful rigidity while she shoved one of his hands up her skirts and writhed against it, using it to work herself into a near-frenzy. Liam groaned into her mouth, rubbing over her mound and wet flesh, fingers occasionally delving into the folds of her sex as she moved. There was no real finesse, no tenderness or seduction, just the need to rut that was answered when she suddenly moved, positioned him and sank down.  
  
Wet, tight flesh wrapped around him and squeezed in an intimate caress that took his breath away. “Daddy,” she crooned, hands rising to grip his shoulders. She began to move, riding him like a horse, sliding up and then back down, and soon he was thrusting up to meet her, hips slamming helplessly forward. “Ohhhh, Daddy, that feels so good,” she gasped, grinding down against him.  
  
He could feel her starting to flutter around him, tightening with what he assumed was the onset of her climax, and he shoved into her harder and faster, instinct taking over to drive him towards his own release. His breath was coming faster, pants and grunts that mingled with her gasping cries and moans, neither of them giving thought to anything beyond the physical sensations that coursed through them. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she chanted, hips rubbing against him as she ground down with every stroke. “Please, Daddy, hurt me, hurt me now!”  
  
Liam's hand closed on her breast, fingers finding and pinching the tight bud of her nipple. He gave it a vicious twist and she cried out, back arching as she shuddered and climaxed. The tight rippling around him was enough to drag him along with her, and he groaned as he emptied himself inside her, pleasure tearing through him like a wild beast. It wasn't the sweet, hot release he'd known with Will, but something else, something wilder and more primitive and purely physical on a level he hadn't realized existed before now.  
  
She slumped down against him, and he absently petted her hair, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. This was probably where he should say something, but he couldn't think of any words- or at least, not of any that wouldn't brand him the very worst kind of hypocrite. Instead, he waited for her to make the first move, just as he'd let her set the pace of their coupling a few seconds ago.  
  
For several minutes, she lay against him like a dead thing, the only real sign of life in her the way she occasionally nuzzled his neck and mewled softly. He felt himself softening and slipping out of her, and was about to cast his good intentions aside and push her away when she bit him. Teeth sank into his throat, tearing through the skin, and the crazy woman just moaned and started to... drink!  
  
Somehow, Liam managed to wedge a hand between their bodies. He tried to push her away, only to have her growl and tighten her grip. She was strong, so much stronger than she should have been. His vision was starting to gray at the edges, and he wondered if this was God's judgment on him for his sins. He hoped his death would pay the toll, that Will wouldn't be called to account as well, and with that thought in mind, he reached up and tugged his crucifix free, curling his fingers weakly around the wooden cross. Perhaps God would feel it, and know that he'd died loving both God and Will.  
  
A high-pitched scream rang out, and smoke began to drift up from between them, bringing with it the acrid scent of burning flesh. He felt the fangs slide out of his neck, and he shoved as hard as he could, sending her tumbling out into the sanctuary. Gritting his teeth, Liam lunged for the confessional door, shaking hands fumbling with the lock for what seemed like hours before he managed to get it latched. He heard her scream again just before she hit the door, the blow hard enough to shake the small space as she vented her fury at the loss on it.  
  
Clutching his crucifix once more, he tried to pray, tried to come up with the words that might protect him, but all he could manage was a muttered, “Oh, God, please... please, God, save me...”


	19. Chapter 19

Father Dawson let himself into the church shortly after sunrise to start getting ready for the morning Mass. The sanctuary was empty, and he hummed softly as he set the candles out and marked the readings in the Bible at the lectern. He moved with the kind of quiet efficiency that came from years of practice, so accustomed to the routine that he could have done it blindfolded.   
  
His first indication that this wasn’t just another tranquil morning came when he heard the whimpering. It was faint enough that he had to walk about the entire church twice before he realized that it was coming from the confessionals. Frowning, he tried the doors one by one until he came to the last priest’s chamber and was met with resistance. Leaning down, he pressed his ear against the wood, and he could hear the whimpering clearer, so he knew he’d found what he was looking for. Knocking on the door, he called out, “Is someone in there?”  
  
When he didn’t get an answer, he pushed against the door harder, and this time, he could make out words, a hoarse and fervent litany: “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God...” The distress he could hear in the voice gave him the strength to renew his assault, and after two more hard shoves, the door swung open, nearly sending him toppling right into -  
  
“Liam?” he whispered, stunned at the sight of his the young priest. He was disheveled, his clothes crumpled and stained with white patches that made him blush, but that wasn't the worst of it. No, it was the wild look in his eyes, the pallor to his skin, and the way his dry, cracked lips moved, forcing the words he'd heard out. Whatever had happened in here had obviously done something to him, because when Dawson reached a hand out towards him, he shrank back with a faint cry, and thrust his hand up between them. His wooden crucifix was clutched tightly in his hand, his knuckles white around it, and a sinking suspicion dawned on him as he began to piece the puzzle together.  
  
When he closed his hand around the cross that was held up to him, he saw the wild look in his eyes began to fade, and he knew what it was. “It's okay,” he said softly, still holding on to the cross until Liam lowered it with a ragged sob. He toppled forward, hands clutching at Dawson's surplice, shuddering breaths shaking his whole frame, while Dawson laid a hand lightly on top of his head and repeated, “It's okay.”  
  
The sobs gave way to wild, hysterical laughter. “No, it's not,” Liam choked out. “You don't understand. It's not okay; It'll never be okay again.” He looked up at him, then glanced at the altar, breaking into a mixture of laughter and sobs again. It was then, as he turned his head, that Dawson saw the jagged holes in his throat and the blood that stained the side of his neck a deep red.  
  
“Oh, my God,” he whispered, starting to reach down to touch before he stopped himself. “You - we have to talk to - Come on.” Without giving the other man a chance to argue, he pulled him up to his feet and hustled him into the sacristy. “Here... wait here,” he told him, pressing the cross back into his hand when he started to argue. I'll be right back with Monsignor.”  
  
Turning around, Dawson hurried back to the rectory, vaguely aware that he probably looked ridiculous trying to run in his cassock, but not caring about anything beyond making sure the monsignor was aware of what had happened to Liam as soon as possible. He found him in his office, and his quickly panted explanation was enough to make him shove the papers he'd been browsing through inside his desk and follow Dawson back to the church. Liam hadn't moved from his spot when they burst back into the sacristy, still clutching his cross like it was a lifeline.  
  
“Oh dear,” Monsignor Moss murmured, walking slowly over to him to examine the puncture wounds with light brushes of his fingertips. “Dawson, you need to go get ready for Mass. I'll handle this from here.”  
  
Dawson nodded and slipped back out to the sanctuary, trying to compose himself and forget about the sight of his fellow priest, as well as what he knew he had to have seen to leave him like that. Instead, he set about tidying up the confessional, making sure to tuck the lacy white handkerchief he found beneath the seat into his pocket. He'd give that to Monsignor later - right now tending to Liam's injuries and removing any other traces of the attack were the most important things to deal with.  
  
Monsignor Moss managed to coax Liam back to the rectory, where he was tucked back in bed after having his neck cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged, and given a sedative to allow him to sleep. Once he was sure that the young man wouldn't be getting up before at least that afternoon, the monsignor retired to his office to figure out how best to handle the situation. There was no question that he would need to be sent somewhere else; the church was definitely not equipped to deal with this situation - indeed, the very mention of any existence of these creatures was forbidden - and he doubted Liam would be able to handle it without someone to guide him through it, anyway. He'd been aware that something was disturbing the newest addition to their parish for some time now, but he'd wanted to figure out what it was before he approached him about it. Unfortunately, one of the demons he wasn't supposed to acknowledge had taken the choice out of his hands.  
  
There was, however, someone else that might be able to help, an old schoolmate who'd taken a different path from his. With a sigh, Monsignor Moss picked up the phone and dialed a number he hadn't used in years. “Hello, Rupert? It's Jason. Sorry to disturb you, but I have a little situation I was thinking you might be able to help me out with. You might say it's right up your alley...”


	20. Chapter 20

“Little help here!”  
  
Dawn ran to help when she heard the call, laughing at the sight of the man who seemed to be making his way into the apartment by feel more than anything else. “You know, it's not illegal to make Buffy carry some things, too,” she commented, taking two of the bags that were perched on top of the box full of Chinese takeaway containers. “After all, she's the one who's freakishly strong and everything.”  
  
“I heard that,” the Slayer commented, dropping her own load of bags just inside the door.  
  
“Yeah, well, I meant you to.”  
  
“Just for that, we're locking you out in the hallway while we watch all three Pirates movies,” she informed her loftily.  
  
“What?!? You can't do that!” the young woman protested. “Spike, tell her she can't do that!”  
  
Will looked over his shoulder. “You can't do that,” he told Buffy in a perfect deadpan. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, then went back to unpacking dinner.  
  
The two sisters headed down the hall to put the remaining loot away, while Will prepared plates of food for all of them. He knew both their preferences by heart now - beef and broccoli with extra egg rolls for Dawn, plenty of lo mein noodles for Buffy, but only a little bit of sauce, and sweet and sour chicken over white rice for himself. He'd spent the last several months learning - or rather, re-learning, he supposed - the Summers girls, and while he didn't have Spike's fierce love for them, he'd discovered his own sort of fondness: less obsessive, gentler, and decidedly more fraternal. Settling into this new life they'd made for themselves hadn't necessarily proved easy, but they'd both been patient and understanding, and with them, he felt like he could finally say he'd found a family again.  
  
It had been strange at first, uncovering Spike's memories without the feelings that he knew went along with them, and as odd as it had been for him, he knew it had to have been worse for them. More than once he'd noticed Buffy watching him with a wistful look in her eyes, as though she kept expecting to see traces of her fallen lover in his dress or speech. He'd seen Dawn's face fall every time he called her by name instead of one of the old nicknames he'd been told Spike favored, so sometimes he tried to slip a 'Bit' or 'Brat' in, just to make her smile. Eventually, however, they'd learned that, while Spike was part of Will, he wasn't the total, and they'd made peace with it. Both of them still called him Spike, and he hadn't tried to discourage them - he'd been Spike since he first came into their lives, and for them he'd continue to be Spike. But he introduced himself to his new friends and colleagues at the Council as Will, and the girls had learned to do so as well. All in all, the introduction of a former vampire into the Summers home was going much better than anyone had thought it would.   
  
Of course, the memory of having blurted out that he was gay the first time Buffy tried to seduce him still made his ears burn, but in hindsight, his panicked words had probably been better than any softer evasion might have been. And while she'd turned bright red and fled to her room immediately afterward, when she reappeared the next morning, she seemed to have made her peace with it. Since then, they'd discovered a friendship that was deeper than the one she'd shared with Spike, and they'd grown comfortable with each other, learning to touch and be touched until hugs and comfortable foot rubs were commonplace. It wasn't unusual to find all three of them jumbled together like puppies on the couch while they watched movies, and while it meant occasionally having to reassure whoever Buffy was dating that yes, he really  _was_  gay and didn't have plans to make a move on her, it was worth it, because every time he had his girls snuggled up against him, he felt like he'd come home all over again.  
  
“Mmmm, yummy,” Buffy proclaimed, leaning past him to snitch one of Dawn's egg rolls.   
  
“Thief,” he teased her with a grin.  
  
“You know it!” She grinned back at him before she bit into her stolen treat. “And if you're not nice to me, then I'm not giving you the present I bought you today.”  
  
“Present?” Alert as a child at the word and promise of a surprise, Will turned around and folded his arms, giving her a curious look. “What'd you get me?”  
  
Buffy didn't answer, though, just picked her plate up and started into the living room. “Be nice and you can have it after the movie,” her voice floated back to him.  
  
“I bet Dawn would tell me!” he yelled after her.  
  
“Dawn would tell you what?” the girl in question asked.   
  
“The present Buffy bought me that she's using as blackmail to make sure I do whatever she wants tonight.”  
  
“You bet I would... but I didn't see it, whatever it was. Buffy probably snuck the bag inside something else. She's sneaky like that.” She eyed her plate when he held it out her, and asked, “Did Buffy take one of my egg rolls again?”  
  
“You bet! And it was delicious!” the Slayer called from the living room. “C'mon, you two - I wanna start the movie!”  
  
“What are we watching?” Will asked, as he and Dawn headed over to the couch and settled down.  
  
“Velvet Goldmine.”  
  
“Again?!?”  
  
“Shut up - I like it!” Buffy huffed, slinging a pillow at him.  
  
He caught it easily and smirked at her. “Like watching Christian Bale and Ewan Macgregor make out, is more like it.”  
  
“I haven't noticed you covering your eyes during that part,” Dawn teased him, and he felt his cheeks heat in response. There really was nothing he could say to that, not when he was well aware of how much he liked the scenes where the men were wrapped up in each other, kissing with a passion that he knew all too well. Rather than try to serve up a comeback that he knew would fall flat, he leaned over to grab the remote up from the coffee table and turned the TV on.  
  
For the next several hours, they entered the world of and the vibrant music and people that surrounded him. Will knew that he'd lived through that scene, even had vague memories of clubs, flashing lights, and bodies all around him, but it seemed as much like a movie as the story on the screen. When it ended, he flipped it off and looked down at the young woman curled up against his shoulder, her breathing soft and even in sleep. Will could see her eyes flickering rapidly back and forth beneath her eyelids and hoped whatever dream she was having was a good one. “Looks like we wore her out again,” he said softly, grinning over at her sister.  
  
“We seem to keep doing that, don't we?” Buffy replied, returning his smile. “C'mon, I'll help you get her up.” She leaned over and shook Dawn gently. “Hey... sleepyhead. Spike needs to get to bed, and your deadweight's pinning him down.”  
  
“Mmmmkay,” was the sleepy response. She made no move to get up, though, so Buffy took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet, then walked her back to her room.  
  
While Buffy put Dawn to bed, Will set about cleaning up. He carried the plates into the kitchen and rinsed them off, put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow, and had just finished loading the dishwasher when Buffy reappeared. “Have I ever mentioned how much I appreciate you doing the dishes so I don't have to?”  
  
“Maybe a few thousand times.”  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever. So, ready for your present?”  
  
Picking up a dish towel, he dried his hands off and smiled at her. “You didn't have to do that, you know. But since you did... yeah, gimme!”  
  
Her giggle warmed that part of him that he knew was Spike, with the vampire's memories and feelings for the Slayer. “I left it in your room. I, uh, I thought you might, well... I wanted to help you some with the adjustment to your new life, y'know?”  
  
It was a strange way to talk about a gift. Will gave her a curious look, tossed the dish towel down on the counter, and went to investigate. Buffy followed him down the hall after a few minutes, peeking into his room to see him sitting on the bed, holding her presents. The look on his face made it hard to tell what he was thinking, and she was just about to claim it had all been a joke in really bad taste when he said, “I've gotta say, I don't think I've ever gotten something like this before.”  
  
Dammit. She'd hurt him, or upset him, or something bad, when all she'd been trying to do was support him. “I just... after what you told me... I wanted to -”  
  
“Help me out?” He glanced at her, lips turning up in a wry smile. “With  _The Joy of Gay Sex_ , lube, and a dildo?”  
  
“Vibrator,” she corrected automatically. “And I didn't know how much experience you've had as a... well, as a human. So I thought it might come in handy.”  
  
Will chuckled, the sound easing some of the pressure in her chest. “Thanks, pet.” He didn't use pet names as much as he used to, but every so often they still popped out, and he was aware that she listened for them, for proof that Spike wasn't completely gone, just changed. He set the gifts aside and came over to the door, where he pulled her into his arms for an extended hug. With a kiss on the top of her head, he murmured, “I know it's not easy for you, Buffy, but this... thank you, luv. It means a lot to me that you got me this.”  
  
He hadn't been sure what to think when he'd seen the book, and the bag with the lubricant and sex toy had caught him even more off guard, but as she'd fumbled with words and tried to explain, he realized that this was Buffy making an effort, trying to show that she accepted him as a man instead of wanting him to still be the vampire she used to know. That was probably what was behind Velvet Goldmine and Brokeback Mountain, and any of the other gay-themed movies she'd chosen recently when it was her turn to pick, as well, and now he wondered why he hadn't seen it before. The surprisingly thoughtful gesture touched him, and he knew then why Spike had fallen in love with her. It wasn't the strength and power of the Slayer that had truly gotten to him, but the headstrong, awkward girl who did her best to love the people around her for who they really were. It was Buffy, and he couldn't help but love her as well.   
  
As he might have expected, she let him hold her for just a few seconds before she disengaged. “I'm glad you like it,” she told him, giving him a shy smile. “I guess... you probably want some time alone, huh?”  
  
There was no missing the wistful tone in her voice, and he wasn't about to let her down after she'd gone to such lengths for him. “I'll take a gander at it later,” he promised. “For now, how about we make some caramel corn and break out the cards? You still owe me a game of rummy, remember?”  
  
She giggled again, and bounced out towards the kitchen. Will glanced over at the book and toy, smiling to himself, then followed after her. He'd have time later to catch up on his reading.


	21. Chapter 21

Giles glanced at the Arrivals board, for once relieved to see that a flight he was meeting was delayed. He'd done his best to account for traffic, but as anyone who'd ever had to brave the A4 could attest, attempting to allow extra time was by no means a foolproof strategy. But at least he'd beat the flight here, so his young guest wouldn't have to worry about being stranded when he landed with no welcoming party to greet him. Taking a closer look at the board, he noted the gate and started towards it, reasonably certain that he would be able to reach it before the plane arrived and all the passengers finished deplaning.  
  
The call from Jason had indeed come as an enormous surprise, but Giles knew there was very little he could deny his old friend. They'd grown up together, both children of prominent members of the Council, and as neither had wished to follow in his father's footsteps, they'd both rebelled in their own ways. Giles had become a teenage rabble-rouser of the worst sort, especially once he'd fallen under Ethan Rayne's influence, while Jason had gone along with him reluctantly, his friend far more inclined to look for his answers in books and music instead of sex, drugs, and spellcasting. It was Egyon that had changed everything, convinced Giles to return to the fold and accept his fate and pushed Jason further away. The demon's dark presence had sent him running to the church, where such things weren't allowed to exist. Not that the denial made a difference when vampires invaded, of course, but at least they weren't part of his daily life, and he supposed that was what Jason truly wanted.  
  
He was still a little puzzled as to why he would have felt it necessary to call him, however. There were others in the States that might have helped, without needing to remove the young priest from his parish, but that might have been part of it as well. According to Jason, the boy was shaken to the point that his sanity could be in danger, so perhaps a change of scenery was for the best - especially if the alcohol Jason had found in his room indicated a larger problem. But they could address that as well, although the trauma from the vampire attack would need to be his first concern.  
  
The sudden proclamation by Chaka Khan that she was every woman startled him out of his musings. “Bloody hell,” he swore under his breath, promising himself yet again that he was going to make Buffy change the ring tone the very next time he saw her. In the meantime, he did his best to ignore the strange looks that were being aimed at him as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”  
  
“Hi, Giles! How come you didn't tell me you were coming into London? I called your office and they said that you were in the city for the day. I'd've met you for lunch if I'd known.”  
  
“It's not personal, Buffy - it's business. I'm meeting the young man my friend is sending to stay with me at the airport. I believe I told you about him... the priest that was attacked by a vampire a few weeks ago?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. That's gotta suck pretty majorly for him. Hey, I wonder if Spike knows him? What with them both being priests and all.”  
  
Giles sighed. Deciding not to even attempt explaining (for the ninth time, at least) that Spike had not, in fact, actually been a priest, but had only studying to be one, he addressed the suggestion that they might know each other instead. “Buffy, there are some 40,000 priests in the United States. The likelihood that Spike would have been introduced to this young man is about as likely as you knowing all of the various relatives in Miami and Chicago that people ask you about.”  
  
She giggled, and he smiled at the sound, so much like the carefree girl he'd first met rather than the too-serious woman she'd become after Sunnydale. He hated to admit it, but Spike's return had brought laughter back into the lives of the Summers girls, and Giles found that no matter how much he'd disliked the vampire, he owed him for that. “Okay, you've got a point. If I don't know Aunt June from Atlanta, Spike probably doesn't know Father Whoever. Anyway, I won't make you late for the plane - I just called to check in and say that we'll see you at Christmas - that's still on, right?”  
  
“Of course. And I trust that you'll make sure Spike behaves himself,” he stated firmly, earning another ripple of laughter in return. “Have a good day, Buffy. Say hello to Dawn and Spike for me.”  
  
“Will do!” she chirped, and hung up. Giles pressed the off button on his phone as well, briefly thinking, as he always did after talking to his Slayer, about what an incredible woman she'd grown into. Joyce could very rightly be proud of the daughter she'd raised, although he rather liked to think that some small credit might be due to him, as well.   
  
Quickening his steps, he arrived at the gate just a few minutes before the announcement of the incoming flight was made. He moved off to the side a little and wondered if perhaps he should have brought a sign or something, some way to indicate to the young priest who he was. But he was almost certain that he would have felt incredibly stupid holding it up until he arrived, so he decided to just watch each passenger carefully. Most were dismissed as being either too old, the wrong gender, or clearly aware of where they were going, but there was one who looked like he might be the right age... perhaps he should go introduce himself and hope that Jason had given him some sort of description?  
  
“Excuse me... are you Rupert Giles?”  
  
Or he could just wait for the young man to walk up to him. His lips turned up in a wry smile, Giles turned to answer the question. “Yes, I'm -” The smile faded instantly along with the warm words of welcome he had planned when he realized exactly who he was looking at.  
  
Deep brown eyes locked with his, the same eyes that had been the last thing Jenny saw, the same eyes that had glowed with a deep satisfaction while they watched him scream in pain. “You're dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “You... you died right along with everybody else, in that alley.” He didn't mention the grim satisfaction that he'd felt when he got the news, the sense that, finally, over two hundred years of death and destruction had come to a fitting end.  
  
“I'm not sure what you're talking about, but I can assure you I'm not dead.” But even as he said the words, Liam's hand rose to his throat, fingers brushing over the bandage that stood out in glaring white relief. The jagged wounds beneath throbbed uncomfortably against the gauze, and he wasn't sure if it was from the contact, or how close he felt he'd come to death that night. While Monsignor Moss had assured him that he hadn't been in any danger of bleeding to death, he doubted that would be the case if he hadn't been able to make the... vampire leave. It was still hard to believe that such things might be real, that demons and other evil creatures actually walked the earth, but he couldn't deny what he'd seen with his own eyes.  
  
Giles frowned, his gaze tracking the motion of his hand as it moved up to his neck and then dropped back down. He wasn't quite sure how to react. Had it been Spike who'd shown up like this, or even helped orchestrate it, he'd have known it for a joke immediately, but he doubted Spike, who was still adjusting to the flashes of memory that accompanied his return to the land of the living, had even thought to inquire as to his ex-sire's whereabouts, let alone seek him out and set something like this up. Besides, the last thing one could accuse Angel of was having sense of humor enough to take part in such shenanigans. And Jason had sworn that everything he said was true... “Let me see your cross,” he ordered shortly, certain that the request would put a quick end to this farce.  
  
Instead, Liam reached up to pull the chain from beneath his shirt, fingers curling around the wooden cross the second it was free. “After the vam - after what happened, I haven't taken it off.” He'd even worn it to shower, preferring to run the risk of damaging either cross or chain with the water than spend any time without the reassuring feel of it against his skin.   
  
Giles stared at the cross, held securely in a hand that neither shook nor smoked from the contact, his mind reeling as he tried to assimilate this new information. Angel was human. Like Spike, but unlike Spike, he didn't seem to have retained any of his previous memories   
  
Which made him an innocent, as much of an innocent as any of the victims that he and the others had helped over the years. And there was no way that Giles could turn him away, not if that was the case. He sighed and held his hand out for Liam's bag. "Come on, let's go get your cases. I'm sure you're tired after the trip."  
  
No, Giles wasn't about to send him away if he needed help. But he'd be keeping a close eye on him, just the same.


	22. Chapter 22

Tonight was the night. Will made his decision while he listened to the girls chatter over dinner, both brimming with excitement at the trip ahead of them. They were going to the Watcher's for the Christmas holidays, and while he was looking forward to seeing Buffy's friends again, he knew that privacy would be hard to come by for the next few weeks. If he wanted any time to himself, he'd better take advantage of his room and the lock on his door while he still had both.  
  
Once he'd decided, he spent the rest of the night flushed with a sort of happy anticipation. Even Dawn remarked on his sudden mood elevation, especially when he didn't complain about her putting the Discovery channel on after supper. He did his best to pay attention, because he really did like watching shows about Ancient Egypt, but it was hard to watch documentaries on the sphinx and King Tut when other, far more tempting pleasures beckoned. Buffy seemed to understand, or at least guess, the reason for his distraction, because she shushed her sister when she started to tease him, and put a cap on the evening after only a few hours. Will loved her a little bit more for that, although he still blushed when she kissed him on the cheek at the end of the night and told him to, “Sleep tight,” with a small smile.  
  
He showered and went about his usual bedtime routine, even though it was a few hours earlier than he generally went to bed. Still, maybe if he behaved like he always did, nobody would question the time or the soft click of the lock that sounded when he closed the door behind him. Feeling like someone might start banging on the door at any moment, he moved stealthily across the room and eased the top drawer of his nightstand open. He dipped his hand inside and pulled the toy, lube, and book that Buffy had given him a few months ago out, setting the first two aside in favor of the book.  
  
It had taken him a few days to decide to actually open it, and when he had, he'd vacillated between hot embarrassment and a torrid arousal that left him hard as steel after seeing the pictures and reading about different positions and activities. For weeks now he'd been studying the book, reading carefully, preparing himself for what he knew he wanted - what he craved with a need that made his knees weak - and it was finally time to attempt it. He checked the book again, reviewing the suggested steps, mentally checking off the parts about showering and ensuring privacy, glanced at the waiting supplies with a mixture of trepidation and eager curiosity, then read over the remaining suggestions before he allowed himself to look at the illustration that accompanied them.  
  
A dark-haired man lay on his back amid tumbled sheets, naked and aroused, and at the sight of his erection, Will felt his own dick twitch and start to fill. He shifted, running his eyes down past the painted cock to the spread legs and raised knee. The man was holding his shaft with one hand, while the other was wrapped around a toy that was half-inside him. He had his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent moan, and was quite obviously enjoying himself. Will traced the line of the toy, recognizing it from the book's instructions as a dildo rather than a vibrator like he had, his fingers shaking at the thought of finally having something to fill the empty space inside at last.  
  
The first time he'd read the descriptions of anal sex, he'd been overcome with a hunger for it, despite the slight pain the book said might occur. Just the thought of feeling someone inside, hard with their own need... it made him shudder every time he considered it. He'd experimented with his fingers, one and then two, and while they felt good, he hadn't really spent much time searching for his prostate, usually too worked up to do more than get inside before he came. But tonight he was determined to take the toy, and from the way it was shaped, he was almost certain it would stimulate the right spot.  
  
One hand stole down to grip his hardening cock as he stared at the picture, squeezing and rubbing, absently teasing himself the way he often did while he read, and it wasn't long before he was fully hard, but he waited until the first drops of precome had soaked into his sweats before he undressed and crawled into bed. Turning onto his side, he reached for the lube, opened the cap with a flick of his thumb, then squeezed some out onto his palm. He stared down at the picture as he retrieved the toy and began to slather it with lube, first coating it, then running his hand up and down the slick plastic as though it were a real dick.  
  
At the thought of a dick in his hand, thick and pulsing and hot, he felt his hole twitch. Setting the toy down on the sheet, he reached behind himself and slid a finger inside, biting his lip as it slid easily in. Another soon joined it, and he twisted them as he worked them awkwardly in and out, damning the angle but unwilling to give up the book just yet. The picture seemed to beckon to him, whispering about the pleasure that was waiting for him so soon...  
  
Finally he couldn't wait. Will shifted on the bed, rolling on his hip to allow him to draw a leg up until he was nearly face down on the mattress. The movement gave him a little more freedom, and he thrust his fingers inside himself a little more vigorously, hissing softly when his dick jerked at the feeling. He couldn't wait much longer, or it would all be over before it started, and he wasn't about to lose his chance! Pulling his fingers out, he picked the toy back up, applied more lube, then brought it behind him to push against his hole. The pressure was something new, the blunt feeling of something besides his fingers nudging against him enough to make his hips twitch forward, seeking friction for his aching cock.  
  
He took a deep breath, then pushed the toy forward, bearing down against it as soon as it started to slide inside. Almost immediately, he felt the difference - it was nothing like his fingers! This was so much better, so much bigger, and he felt fuller than he ever had. The toy went in relatively easy, and once it was inside, Will grabbed the book, rolling onto his back as he did. He wanted to feel the slide in and out the way the man in the picture was, but the book said that he might need time to adjust to it, so he slid a hand down between his legs to press against the base instead. Rocking his palm moved the toy until it nudged a place inside that made his eyes widen and his mouth fall open in unconscious imitation of the picture.  
  
As soon as he'd recovered from the initial sensation, he moved it again, moaning softly as the vibrator teased the sensitive spot he'd read so much about. It was even better than they said it would be - like a switch that set off fireworks all over his whole body! He experimented for a few minutes, alternately rocking the toy and holding still while he moved against his hand, but soon he had to stop, already getting too close to the edge to keep going. He didn't want to come just yet - that would be later, when he'd spent a little more time with both the vibrator and the book.  
  
Slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, he scooted back until he was leaning against the headboard, shoving the pillows down onto the floor to give himself some extra room. He dragged the book over until it lay open by his hip, and flipped through the pages until he found his favorite picture. Two men were kissing, their legs entwined, their bare cocks rubbing against one another. It was just like that last night with Liam, when they'd lain together and moved, sliding over each other until... His hand dropped down to close around his dick and he bit his lip to try and keep a moan back as he stroked himself slowly, letting his thoughts drift between Liam and the men pictured in the book.  
  
He was hard and aching, precome leaking steadily over his fingers, and he had to be careful to keep his touch light and slow, because too much would be his undoing right now. Licking his lips, he stared down at the way the men in the picture kissed, their entire worlds narrowed to each other and their bodies. He reached down to touch the two cocks, thinking about Liam's hard dick sliding against his, the way they'd both grown wet as they got closer and closer to coming, and his hips jerked up, thrusting his dick into his fist, then pressing back down against the toy.  
  
The movement sent those little electric sparks through him again, and he turned the pages until he found the next one he wanted. The same men knelt on the bed, back to chest, heads turned to allow them to kiss, but that wasn't the part Will was interested in. His eyes went immediately to the hard thrust of the first man's cock, and then to the other man's dick that was obviously sliding inside him. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that, to put himself in that position, feeling a hard cock press up into him while a hand stroked him and a voice moaned in his ear, telling him to open up a little more...  
  
He couldn't keep still any longer. Twisting the dial at the base of the vibrator on, Will reached behind him to take hold of the headboard, gripping it tightly as he began to fuck up into his hand and back onto the toy. Thoughts of being quiet were fading under the onslaught of pleasure, and he could only hope the girls were asleep when he heard the bedsprings under him start to squeak. If they weren't, too bad. He was beyond caring, his hard cock and the need to come taking over until all that mattered was the slick feel of his hand sliding over himself and the vibrator wriggling and humming away inside every time he rocked back on it.  
  
A sudden image of Liam standing at the foot of the bed watching him popped into his head. He could picture the big man looming over him, hand moving over his own hard cock while he stared at Will with open lust. It was followed immediately by the thought of Liam shoving inside him, and with that, there was no turning back. “Oh, GOD!” he panted, hips jerking as he shot helplessly over and over, coating his hand in sticky white streams of bliss.  
  
It was several minutes before he calmed down enough to be capable of any other thought than, “Wow!” and when he was able to move again, he leaned over to grab his discarded shirt to clean himself up with. The sheets were still slightly damp, but that was okay, he decided, as he slid down onto his back. They smelled of sex, the way he remembered his bed smelling when he'd fallen asleep in Liam's arms; it was a soothing scent, and he barely managed to stay awake long enough to turn the vibrator off, ease it out of his still twitching hole, and shove everything back into his nightstand before he dropped off to sleep, images of his might-have-been lover stealing into his dreams as soon as he was unconscious.


End file.
